


i'm sick of all the small talk (if you're sick of pretending)

by euphrasiefauchelevent



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alex Boniello!Connor, Coming Out, Michael Lee Brown!Evan, Miscommunication, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Tutoring, Vague Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-05-30 03:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15087749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphrasiefauchelevent/pseuds/euphrasiefauchelevent
Summary: (alternate title: i'm astounded and nonplussed! i am filled with calculust!)Jared Kleinman gets roped into tutoring Connor Murphy.Connor Murphy is mysterious, and standoffish, and moody, and downright confusing.Connor Murphy is also frustratingly attractive.Jared is absolutely screwed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey i'm back with a totally different set of ships lol what don't ask
> 
> i know i put various casting stipulations in the tags but it's pretty much just a disclaimer to say "i wrote this fic very much with this cast in mind please don't panic if i describe connor as having short hair" etc. you can, of course, feel free to imagine whoever you want in any of the roles. i actually wrote the first draft of this with an entirely different connor in mind so really you as readers are free as a bird
> 
> actual title is from "say when" by jukebox the ghost. alternate title is from "stupid with love" from mean girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL YOU MIGHT HAVE NOTICED THIS CHAPTER DID A WEIRD DISAPPEARING ACT. that's because i'm dumb and posted chapter THREE too hastily and deleted this one instead. sorry lads

> _"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the Little Prince._
> 
> _"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down a little distance from me - like that - in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day..."_
> 
> _-_ The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery

* * *

 

Jared isn’t the kind of person who gets asked to stay behind after class.

He gets good grades, especially in math, and as much as he likes to exude an overly confident class clown persona he’s learned to temper it with enough of a blissfully innocent “Messing around in class? _Moi_ ?” attitude when confronted that he very rarely _actually_ gets in trouble for anything. And he’s most definitely not a candidate for being invited to have a Quiet Word After Class about whether or not Everything Is Alright because his teacher is Always There For Him If He Needs To Talk. Which makes Mrs Walker’s warm, encouraging smile as she stops by his desk midway through the period even more confusing.

In fact, when he makes his way over to Mrs Walker at the end of class, she looks positively exuberant.

“Great! I’m glad you had time to come and talk to me,” she says. Like Jared really had a choice.

“Yeah. No worries.”

“Feel free to sit down,” Mrs Walker says. As soon as Jared’s settled down in a seat in the front row, she adds, “I’m sure you know you’re one of my strongest students.”

“Thanks,” Jared says, trying not to look too outwardly perplexed.

“And I know you’re good at explaining concepts to other people.”

Jared thinks this might be a very generous way of saying “you’re kind of a know-it-all”, but he figures he might as well take the compliment at face value, and nods in a way that hopefully comes off as appropriately flattered.

Mrs Walker smiles again - more subdued, this time - and leans forward in her seat, clearly preparing to get to the actual point of this hitherto slightly cryptic conversation.

“So. I was wondering. I have a student in one of my other classes who’s - I guess they’re struggling a little at the moment. With the class. And I thought you’d be a great candidate for maybe tutoring them? Of course, it’s entirely up to you, but I think you’d be really good at it and I think they’d find a bit of help and support from a peer really helpful, so-”

“Sure,” Jared cuts in, a tad too hastily.

“You’d be up for it?” Mrs Walker looks weirdly taken aback.

Jared nods. He doesn’t have a problem with the concept in theory. He’s never tried tutoring but he’s pretty sure he’d be good at it. He likes explaining things to people, he likes _helping_ people, even though he’d never actually admit it to anyone, and tutoring falls neatly into his social comfort zone of holding a conversation for hours on end without actually having to open up to someone and make an actual emotional connection. Plus, it’s kind of a douchey thing to say, but tutoring probably looks really good on college applications and shit.

“Who is it?” he says, content enough that he’s making the right decision here.

Mrs Walker takes a deep breath. “Do you know Connor Murphy?”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Jared doesn’t know Connor Murphy, not really. Of course he knows _of_ him. Everyone does. The guy’s a walking reputation, all scowls and mid-class meltdowns and outfits that look like a Hot Topic employee got into a fight with a sentient thrift shop and lost. And public opinion seems to be that he’s _this_ close to flunking out of school, if he’s not expelled for smoking pot behind the gym first, so it’s not really surprising that he’s apparently desperately in need of a math tutor.

It also just so happens, however, that Connor Murphy is, like, _exceptionally_ hot. Not that that’s relevant. Jared wouldn’t say he has a crush on him, or anything. Not in the slightest. It’s not like he’s ever going to sit down and swoon over him with that one weird contingent of faux-edgy sophomore girls who post all over their niche aesthetic Instagrams about how desperate they are for a tortured emo stoner boyfriend, or whatever. He’s just capable of admitting that, objectively, Connor Murphy has an appealing set of facial features. Which he wouldn’t mind staring at for a couple of hours a week, even if hanging out with someone like Connor is pretty much grounds for automatic social ostracisation.

“Do you think you’d be able to tutor him?” Mrs Walker prompts, with the kind of barely concealed sad desperation that seems to suggest Jared isn’t even close to being the first person she’s asked.

It’s a total unintentional guilt trip - cue the freaking Sarah McLachlan, or whatever - and, what’s worse, it works instantly. Which is totally embarrassing, for the record.

“Okay.” Jared blurts out. “Sure.”

Mrs Walker actually fucking _beams_ back at him.

“Great! That’s awesome, really, Jared. I actually have Connor in my last class today, so if you want, if you don’t have to be anywhere after school, you could drop by and say hi to him, get everything sorted out?"

“Sure,” Jared says, with a shrug. “No worries. I’ll be there.”

***

It’s just his luck, really, that Jared’s been roped into this after school meeting on a day when the Connor Murphy rumor mill is running at full power. Halfway through last period, he starts hearing whispers around his Spanish class that Connor has had a full scale meltdown in math. The exact details are hazy, to say the least - the jury seems to be out on whether he started crying or cursed out Mrs Walker or started hurling items of stationery around the room in a repeat of the infamous second grade printer incident - but if Jared wasn’t already feeling a bit of trepidation he definitely freaking is now.

He briefly considers whether it’s even worth turning up, but considering he hasn’t yet heard anything about Connor straight up storming out of class, it’s probably safe to assume the meeting’s still on.

Even though it takes him a couple of minutes to walk back to Mrs Walker’s classroom after the bell goes, he’s left lingering outside the door for a while after that. He’s about to give up entirely and leave when the door creaks open and Mrs Walker pokes her head out.

“Hi, Jared!” she says. “You can come in now.”

She leans back into the room. “Is it alright if Jared comes in, Connor?”

A quiet, noncommittal grunt. Mrs Walker smiles apologetically at Jared, and beckons him inside.

Connor Murphy is sitting at the front of the room, half curled into his seat, head bowed so that his hair falls down over his face. His eyes are fixed on his hands - he’s wearing a bunch of rings, Jared notices, and he’s tugging at one of them so hard it looks like he’s about to break his own finger. He’s blinking a little too rapidly, biting the inside of his cheek, and while there’s no question that Jared totally just missed a full-blown Connor Murphy Breakdown, he wasn’t expecting the guy to look quite so _fragile_.

Something about the sight of him makes Jared’s heart twist inside his chest with an emotion he can’t quite identify.

“Hey, Connor,” he says, more to break the silence than anything. Connor doesn’t respond.

“So. Have you two met?” Mrs Walker says. Connor shakes his head just a little, and Jared follows. “Well. Jared, this is Connor. Connor, Jared. Like I said, Jared’s offered to tutor you.”

“Offered” is a strong word, but Jared decides to let it slide.

Connor still won’t look at him.

“I thought I’d leave you two to talk for a few minutes,” Mrs Walker continues, with a cheeriness that’s beginning to sound slightly forced. “That way you can get to know each other a little without me interfering, sort out how you want to do things, and maybe, Connor, you could tell Jared a few of the things you’d like to focus on. Would that be alright?”

Connor just shrugs, so Jared compensates with potentially overly vigorous nodding. It appears to satisfy Mrs Walker, at least, because she just smiles again and leaves the room.

After the door shuts, there’s a couple of seconds of absolutely agonising silence.

“You don’t have to do this,” Connor says, at last. Jared’s always a little surprised when he hears Connor speak. He always expects him to have some kind of gruff, intimidating voice, or at least to put one on to make himself seem scarier. But instead his voice is quiet, high, almost hollow sounding, like he’s reluctant to make too much of a sound. As if, in some sort of weird parallel to the way he’s folded himself into his chair, he doesn’t even want his voice to take up too much space. And right now his voice wavers a little, confirming Jared’s suspicion that Connor has only recently stopped crying.

There it is again, that inexplicable tightness in his chest, like somebody’s turned his aorta into one of those Chinese finger traps. Jared decides to press on and ignore it.

“Well,” he says, consciously keeping his voice light. “Mrs Walker didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

Connor stops pulling at his ring, and the room descends into an almost suffocating stillness. Then, after what seems like a freaking eternity, Connor raises that same hand up to his face with the unmistakable motion of someone wiping away tears.

 _Shit_.

“But I do _want_ to tutor you, seriously,” Jared blurts out. “You seem… uh… _nice_?”

This finally gets Connor to look up. If it wasn’t for the fact that his eyes are still red and watery, his steady, unblinking gaze would give absolutely nothing away.

“...Nice?” Connor repeats, his voice totally flat.

“Yeah,” Jared says, trying very hard to sound completely casual and not like his entire circulatory system currently feels like it’s tying itself in knots. “I mean, like. We’ve never really spoken, right? But you’re in a couple of my classes. And you seem nice.”

Connor exhales sharply, a humorless huff of laughter. “I’m not.”

Wow. Isn’t _that_ just a half-assed angsty teen outburst for the ages.

“Jesus, okay, very intimidating,” Jared says, leaning back in his chair and holding his hands up in mock surrender. Connor frowns, eyeing him suspiciously. “Listen, though, dude. Regardless of how nice you… aren’t. I’m pretty sure Mrs Walker is, like, this close to making us sign some sort of blood pact saying I’ll tutor you, so can we at least _try_ to make this work?”

Connor stays silent a moment longer. Maybe Jared’s imagining things, but he thinks he sees the frown soften a little.

Then, Connor nods.

“Awesome. Great. This is probably the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Connor rolls his eyes. It’s unexpectedly charming. Jared clears his throat.

“So. Do you want to do the tutoring at my place, or at yours? I know we could do it at school, but who wants to stay here any longer than they have to, right? My place might be good, my parents are usually at work until, like, six, so we’d have the house to ourselves for a couple of hours. Well, not totally. I have a cat, so, I don’t know if that’s a problem or-”

“No, I like cats,” Connor blurts out, his voice shooting up a good octave or so.

Every single knot in Jared’s chest unravels at once.

He can’t help but stare at Connor, who’s now staring firmly at the ground, eyes so wide that Jared can practically peer into his brain and decipher the entire _Oh God why the fuck did I say that_ spiel he appears to be mentally reeling through. He’s biting his lip as well, like he’s trying to stop himself from saying anything else stupid - anything else stupidly _endearing_ , oh Jesus, oh fuck - and Jared can’t fucking ignore that, in fact, he is currently having _several_ thoughts about Connor’s lips, and he’s definitely lowkey been having these thoughts about Connor’s lips, about Connor in _general_ , for a while, and frankly he can’t pretend it’s just superficial casual aesthetic attraction or whatever anymore because holy shit, Connor Murphy, the asshole, just had to stupidly, adorably drop in that he freaking. Likes. Cats.

What the _fuck_.

For all his sudden total mental incoherence, Jared at least knows that he has to continue this conversation before Connor fucking shrivels into himself from embarrassment.

“Great,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too strained. “I guess my place works, then.”

Connor nods, clearly not trusting himself to say anything further.

“Awesome. When do you want to start?”

Connor appears deep in thought for a moment.

“Tomorrow?” he says at last, quieter than anything else he’s said so far. He sounds almost painfully hesitant. “I mean. I could probably use all the help I can get, so.”

And there it is, like a final fucking death knell. The faintest ghost of a shy, self-deprecating smile, flickering across Connor’s lips, his mouth upturned ever so slightly for a fraction of a second before his face reverts to its regular stony expression. And just like that, Jared is suddenly, acutely aware that he would do absolutely anything for Connor.

More concisely, he’s totally fucked.

“Great. Tomorrow it is.” Jared’s not sure he likes how soft his voice sounds all of a sudden. “I’ll pick you up after school.”

***

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh? What?” Jared, rudely interrupted from his hopeless gay reverie, looks back up at his laptop screen. Evan is staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Sorry. I’m probably just… you don’t have to, uh, you just look sort of, sorry. Stressed?”

It really is just Jared’s luck that his closest friend - and one hope for last minute pre-Spanish-test cramming - is so absurdly empathetic that he can spot a moderate internal crisis even through a laggy Skype display.

“Yeah, no shit,” Jared groans, rubbing his hands across his face for good melodramatic measure. “It’s this freaking test, bro.”

Evan responds with a mumbled “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Jared is just grateful that he doesn’t push the matter further. Sure, Jared is an excellent liar, he’s had years of practice, but that doesn’t mean that trying to counter Evan’s kind-hearted earnestness isn’t an utterly exhausting task. And now is most definitely not the time for him to snap and suddenly blurt out that actually, he’s been on the verge of kicking a wall and screaming at the top of his lungs for three hours now because he’s realized that he may or may not sort of have a big pathetic crush on Connor fucking Murphy, of all people. Like, he’s not even _out_ to Evan, for starters, so that’s an entire other level of _nope_ for this conversation. And even if he was, he’s pretty certain that he’d totally forfeit his right to make fun of Evan for his equally big and pathetic crush on _Zoe_ Murphy if he confessed that he was totally into her brother. Which would be a tragic loss for their friendship.

Speaking of.

“Hey, didn’t you have that art class with Zoe Murphy today?”

“What?” Evan looks briefly nonplussed by the swift change of subject. “Oh, I, uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Well?” Jared says with a smirk, happily seizing the opportunity to deflect by making Evan uncomfortable instead. “Did you finally get a chance to draw a creepy portrait of her to win her affections, or whatever?”

“No!” Evan splutters. “And besides, it’s a pottery class, actually, so. Definitely not.”

“Well then, did you get a chance to lovingly render her face in clay?”

Evan shakes his head, face screwed up in frustration. Jared doesn’t have to be able to see his shoulders in order to mentally add an exasperated little shrug into the picture. “How would you even do that?”

“Hey. I do not give away Kleinman pottery secrets. If you’re inspired by my genius proposition then, sure, ask my mom, but-”

“I’m _not_ .” A moment of silence. “Um, by the way, _my_ mom’s, uh, she’s working late tomorrow, and, it’s really stupid, you don’t have to say yes, but she’s given me this coupon, for the pizza place, and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to-”

“Jesus, _no_ ,” Jared says, a little too snappily. Noting Evan’s wounded expression, he quickly adds, “No. Crap. I’m busy. That’s all.”

He can’t quite hide the undercurrent of absolute, total despair in his voice.

“Oh. Okay. Sorry. You don’t have to, um. What are you doing? Tomorrow, I mean?” Evan offers him a shaky little smile, clearly trying to turn the conversation around into casual small talk in a totally transparent attempt to hide how upset he is about his pizza night proposition crashing and burning.

Fuck.

“I’m tutoring someone. Mrs Walker roped me into it.”

“Who?”

Jared very nearly slams his laptop shut in response, but he’s confident that Evan is already pretty close to tears by this point, because when _isn’t_ Evan pretty close to tears, and he’d rather not have that on his conscience tonight. Plus, he really does need to steer this conversation back around to Spanish or he’s totally going to bomb this test.

“It doesn’t matter. Just some guy in her Algebra II class. You probably wouldn’t know him.”

“No,” Evan says, with just a lingering hint of melancholy.

Jared sighs. “Anyway. Can we get back to this freaking vocab?”

Thankfully, Evan complies, and Jared can leave the Connor Murphy Conversation for another day.

***

Jared spends much of that night, and the following day, trying to pretend he’s not, in fact, absurdly stressed about tutoring Connor. Despite all objective evidence to the contrary.

Like the fact that it takes him half an hour to decide on what to wear. Or the fact that he resolutely refuses to even _look_ at Connor during their two classes together. He tries to keep up an appropriate level of denial throughout the day - he isn’t _actually_ into Connor, his weird emotional state yesterday was totally just down to the inherent awkwardness of watching a near-total stranger try not to break down in front of him, or something like that. But by the time he’s waiting on the bench at the edge of the parking lot after school, his stomach feeling like it’s flipping over every few seconds, Jared is forced to admit that actually, he is definitely kind of shitting himself over this entire thing.

And then Connor emerges from the main entrance of the school, and Jared’s stomach just about flips out of his body entirely.

He’s probably imagining things, there’s definitely some totally innocuous psychological explanation, but he can’t help but think that Connor looks _really_ good. Like, noticeably better than usual good.

It’s not like Jared doesn’t appreciate Connor’s regular “rolled out of a dumpster behind a particularly edgy thrift shop after three hours of sleep” look. Like, he can’t really deny that, considering he’s apparently been harboring a subconscious crush on the guy for a potentially embarrassing length of time. But it turns out he was not remotely prepared for what is, presumably, the result of Connor actually making an effort for some indiscernible reason.

He’s still wearing all black, of course, because he clearly has a carefully curated brand to maintain regardless of whatever weird aesthetic decisions are at play today, but he’s swapped out his regular hoodies and distressed jackets for a sweater that, even from a distance, looks unbelievably soft. And as Connor gets closer Jared can see that his _hair_ looks soft as well, he’s brushed it for what must be the first time in recent memory, and Jared has to actually physically shake his head like a freaking Etch-a-Sketch to get rid of all the thoughts he’s having about running his fingers through it.

“What are you staring at?”

 _Shit_.

Weirdly enough, though, it doesn’t sound like a challenge, or a threat. There’s an unmistakable nerviness to Connor’s voice, the way he’s holding his bag across his chest like some kind of security blanket as he leans away from Jared ever so slightly.

“Nothing. Nothing, I was just, uh. I zoned out.” Connor doesn’t look convinced. “Seriously. I swear. It’s all good. Are you good to go?”

After a moment of hesitation, Connor nods, his suspicious frown softening ever so slightly.

“Great. Well. My car’s this way, so. Your carriage awaits, or whatever.”

Jared doesn’t have to look back at Connor to know that that trademark frown has probably made a quick comeback. But he follows Jared, at least.

“How was your day?” Jared asks, once they’re both sitting in his car.

Connor shrugs. “It was fine.”

“If you want to put music on, or something, you can just pass me your phone and I’ll sort it out,” Jared continues, even though he’s pretty certain he and Connor have drastically, irreconcilably different music tastes and he’s not _really_ that keen on spending the entire ride home listening to obscure screamo bands or whatever.

Thankfully, Connor shakes his head, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like “I’m all good, actually.” He’s resting one hand on his thigh, clenching and unclenching his fist, and Jared notices that his nails have clearly also been freshly repainted. For a second he considers asking what’s inspired this sudden effort to look slightly less like someone transformed a particularly grouchy raccoon into a human being, but he’s smart enough to know that wouldn’t go down well.

“I can put music on myself? If you want?” Jared says. “I don’t really know what you’re into, but if-”

“No thanks,” Connor mutters.

Extremely stressful silence for the ten minute ride back to Jared’s it is, then.

When they get to Jared’s house, Jared instinctively starts making his way upstairs before turning around and seeing that Connor is still standing in the doorway, arms hanging limply by his sides like he’s some kind of broken ragdoll, looking painfully awkward and lost all of a sudden. He gets the impression that Connor hasn’t been over to a friend’s house in a long time.

Not that they’re remotely friends, of course.

“Well. Welcome to my humble abode,” Jared says, heading back down the stairs. He pauses on the second step up, and immediately regrets the decision because being temporarily taller than Connor just amplifies how small the guy seems to make himself. “I thought we could work in my room, if that’s cool with you. Do you, uh. Want a drink of water? Or anything?”

Connor shakes his head.

“Okay. That’s chill. The kitchen’s just round the corner so if you want anything, feel free to scavenge.”

No reaction at all this time. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Well,” Jared says, after a pause that leaves him satisfied that he’s not about to interrupt a surprise spurt of conversation from Connor. “Anyway. My room’s up here. All my school shit’s in there, and you might have noticed my parents don’t really believe in having doors downstairs so if we work down here we’re totally vulnerable to the whims of my asshole of a cat, so-”

As if rising to the challenge of being called an asshole, Spaghetti - Jared _prays_ Connor will never enquire about his cat’s awful name - takes this as her cue to emerge from wherever she’s been sleeping and come bounding down the stairs. Almost immediately, it’s like something in Connor shifts, his face breaking into an expression of awe that might be the single cutest thing Jared’s ever seen.

Good fucking God.

“ _Hi_ !” Connor half-whispers, his voice shifting up at _least_ an octave. Before Jared can react by telling Spaghetti to _please_ fuck off for the sake of her owner’s heart and nervous system, Connor is crouching down, one hand outstretched, and of fucking _course_ Spaghetti, who normally absolutely hates strangers, approaches cautiously.

Jared actually has to look away as Spaghetti starts sniffing at Connor’s hand.

“What’s her name?” Connor asks, and even though Jared is still staunchly refusing to make eye contact he can actually _hear_ him smiling.

“Spaghetti,” Jared says with a grimace, mentally cursing both his seven-year-old self and his parents’ failure to make him choose a more sensible cat name so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself in front of a distressingly attractive boy almost nine years down the line.

“Hey, Spaghetti!” Connor says, and when Jared dares to look back down the stairs out of the corner of his eye he thinks he can see Connor actually fucking _beaming_. Well. He might just be laughing at the name. But even so, it’s offensively cute.

Then Spaghetti gets bored of the attention and wanders off in the direction of the kitchen, and Connor stands back up, retreating into himself almost immediately as if he’s suddenly remembered that he’s being watched.

“Your room’s fine,” he says curtly.

Jared nods and continues heading upstairs, more than happy to indulge Connor’s apparent desire to pretend the last thirty seconds didn’t just happen.

When they get upstairs, Jared flops into his desk chair before realizing that Connor is, once again, lingering helplessly in the doorway. He’s heard a decent number of jokes about how Connor Murphy is probably actually a vampire, but he didn’t think that meant the poor guy actually had to be invited into every single room he wanted to enter.

“Feel free to sit down,” Jared says, watching as Connor’s eyes dart around the room, taking in the various possible seating locations - the bed, the beanbag under the windowsill, the sad-looking armchair that had taken up residence in Jared’s room when his mom redecorated the living room five years ago (she’d reupholstered the chair herself five years before _that_ and hadn’t been willing to get rid of it entirely). Finally, Connor nods, more to himself than Jared, and settles down in the armchair, holding his bag on his lap with a vice grip.

It’s almost physically painful how clearly out of place, how uncomfortable Connor is, and Jared wishes he knew how to help.

Instead, he settles for getting on with the totally emotionally void, and therefore far less intimidating, subject of math.

“So. Is there anything you really wanted to do today? Like, a concept you wanted to go over, or an assignment, or anything? I can help with anything, seriously.” He offers Connor a smug nod.

“Yeah. Actually.” Connor rummages in his bag for a moment before pulling out a sheet of paper that’s clearly been angrily screwed up at least once. Then he holds it out in Jared’s direction, looking resolutely off to one side with his eyebrows knotted together in a way that’s seemingly frustrated and embarrassed and anxious all at once.

Jared takes the paper and casts his eyes over it, and can’t help but let out a sharp whistle. He obviously knew Connor wasn’t doing well in math, because otherwise he wouldn’t need a tutor, but he didn’t realize the guy was literally getting Fs.

“I have to redo this assignment. For Monday.” Connor’s voice is almost inaudible, a self-conscious mumble. He’s somehow sitting even more stiffly in his seat. “I know. I said I needed all the help I could get.”

“Right. Okay.” Jared is trying very hard not to start swearing out of pure dismay. “How well do you need to do on this, exactly?”

Connor shrugs, nervily pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “I just need to pass. But even that’s-”

“Totally doable!” Jared cuts in, like a dirty fucking liar. “Like, obviously I don’t think we’re going to get it done today, but.” He skims through the worksheet again, trying to find something, _anything_ encouraging to say. “All of these questions are basically the same, right? Like, they’re the same concept with different numbers. So if I tell you how to do one of them, you can basically do them all. Easy.”

“Are you sure?” Connor sounds completely unconvinced.

“Yeah. Or, I mean. It maybe won’t be _easy_ but it won’t be completely freaking impossible.” He almost reaches out to give Connor a friendly pat on the shoulder, like he would if it was Evan sitting there in his crappy old armchair looking so small and embarrassed, but the mere fact that it’s _Connor_ dissuades him. For multiple reasons. “I mean, you’ve got _me_ helping you, after all.”

He thinks he hears Connor actually _scoff_ a little bit, which is totally rude but he’ll let it slide.

“C’mon. Bring your chair over here and let’s do some freaking math."

The next couple of hours pass surprisingly quickly. Jared feels a lot more at ease once he’s in the relatively familiar territory of “telling people what to do in a casual but firm way”, and Connor actually manages to pick up the material a lot more quickly than Jared was expecting. It still takes him about five attempts to answer the first question - at one point he slumps forward with his head in his hands, tugging at the roots of his hair, and Jared almost goes into a freaking tailspin he’s so convinced Connor’s about to burst into tears. But luckily the moment passes without major incident, and the second question only takes three tries, and by the third question Connor almost seems sort of _relaxed_.

Then Jared catches sight of the clock on the wall.

“Hey,” he says (far too softly). “It’s almost six, and I know we said we were only going to keep going until, like, now, so.”

“Okay.” Connor almost sounds disappointed. Which is definitely just Jared projecting, because he can’t imagine Connor ever being disappointed to stop doing math.

“Yeah. Are you sure you’re good to finish this on your own?” Jared says. Connor bites the inside of his cheek, and Jared scrambles for something supportive to say. “I mean, you’ve been doing _really_ well, you’re doing so much better on this already, and I think you’ll totally pass this time.”

There goes Connor’s weird little half smile again. It’s not even really a half smile, more like an ultra-tentative 5% of a smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes, but it’s there nonetheless.

“I’ll show you out,” Jared says.

They don’t talk as they head downstairs, or as Jared unlocks the front door, but the silence no longer has that stifling awkwardness to it that’s permeated all their conversations thus far. It’s not really a _companionable_ silence, per se. But Jared can’t help but feel like he’s not being totally unrealistic when he wonders if they might, one day, reach that stage.

“Hey.” Connor’s voice is suddenly a lot higher and clearer, like the word just leapt out of its own accord. “Could I, um. Could I have your number?”

Jared almost chokes on his own breath.

“Yeah, sure, why?” he says, hoping he sounds appropriately casual and _not_ like his heart is threatening to burst right out of his chest like the freaking Kool-Aid man.

“Sorry. I just thought it would be easier to… organize next time. Or if I need more… if I have questions about the work.” Connor’s mumbling again, brief spurt of confidence suddenly gone, and he’s staring at his hands as he turns his phone over and over.

“Oh, crap, sure, no problem. Give me your phone?”

Connor freezes, looking up at Jared warily. “You can just tell me. I’ll write it in.”

Jared’s not really sure why Connor is so opposed to handing over his phone for, like, five seconds but he decides against calling him out for it. Not when they’ve _almost_ been getting along. So he reels off his number, and Connor puts his phone back in his pocket and reaches for the door handle.

“Do you need a ride home?” Jared asks.

“I’ll walk,” Connor says, and before Jared can protest he’s out of the door.

Jared stands there by the door a few moments longer, his brain finally, consciously processing everything that’s happened over the course of the afternoon, thoughts and emotions and internal screams rolling in like notifications on a phone turned off airplane mode at the end of a long haul flight.

And then his actual, physical phone buzzes, and Jared pulls it out of his pocket to see a single text from an unknown number.

_this is connor_

Jared smiles to himself, staring at the notification, ignoring the way his heart’s just started pounding all over again. He’s only, eventually, distracted by Spaghetti nudging his ankle.

“Oh, hi, hey, Spaghetti,” he sneers at her, in a high-pitched imitation of Connor that would feel like a complete dick move if Connor was still actually there. “For fuck’s sake. You knew exactly what you were doing, Spag, and I hate you.”

Spaghetti just walks away, seemingly perfectly satisfied with her new role as an agent of chaos in Jared’s unforgiving nightmare of a life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks 4 the love on chapter one <3
> 
> you might think to yourself over the course of this chapter, "man, this girl sucks at naming OCs". in fact, the character name you're gonna be most skeptical about is literally deh canon. spotted during the projections in ywbf. so blame peter nigrini, not me

Over the next few weeks, they begin to settle into a routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Connor meets Jared by the bench in the parking lot and they go back to Jared’s house for tutoring. They sit there in Jared’s room, the conversation getting slightly less awkward each time, as Connor struggles with the work and Jared struggles to encourage him. And then Connor leaves, insistent upon walking home even though Jared always offers to give him a ride, and then they barely talk until the next time one of them is sitting stiffly on that bench.

And every Tuesday and Thursday, Jared finds it a little harder to deny that, to put it bluntly, he is falling head over heels in love with Connor Murphy.

It’s the little things, at first. The way Jared’s heart skips a beat every time Connor gives him that hesitant half-smile. The rare occasions when their eyes meet, when Connor isn’t staring at the ground or out of the window or at anything but Jared, and Jared feels an honest to God cliché electrical jolt run through his body.

And then, one Tuesday, Connor gets stressed over a question he doesn’t understand and starts nervously biting at his nails so frantically that Jared worries he’s going to draw blood, and he realizes he’s desperate to gently place his hands over Connor’s and say _Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay_ as reassuringly as he knows how. But he sucks at sympathy, so instead he just explains the question over and over until Connor gets it, and it takes ten minutes but eventually Connor looks up at him, lips pressed together, and after a couple of seconds he nods and says, "Oh. Right. That makes sense."

And then he shakes his head and, with a humorless scoff, he adds, "I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Oh my God, you're  _not_ ," Jared says, and he tries very hard to ignore how he's once again gripped by an urge to take Connor's hand. "Seriously. It took me easily that long to get this kind of question when I took this class."

Which is a total lie, but it appears to sort of cheer Connor up, so it's worth it.

The Thursday after that, their hands actually do brush together as Jared is trying to point at something Connor got wrong and he has to excuse himself and sit in the bathroom with the door locked for five minutes until his breathing returns to normal.

Maybe this whole thing would be easier for Jared if Connor was still visibly totally indifferent toward him, because then at least there’d be no possibility of false hope or, even _more_ messily, actually ending up _friends_ with the guy he’s hopelessly crushing on. But no, just his luck, Connor is opening up, warming to him ever so slightly (although with Connor even the slightest bit of progress feels like coming on leaps and bounds). They’re actually almost holding _conversations_ with each other now, if slightly stilted small talk about their respective days at school counts as conversation. One time Connor even says something that arguably almost sort of counts as a _joke_ , which coming from him is just, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.

(That’s another occasion when Jared has to go and lock himself in the bathroom, but not before bursting out with an almighty cackle and quickly reassuring an alarmed-looking Connor that he’s laughing _with_ , not _at_ him. Connor’s soft, surprised “Oh” that follows is so freaking endearing that it could probably be recorded and used as an instrument of world peace.)

In a way, it’s both a blessing and a curse that Jared and Connor only ever actually _talk_ when they’re alone together. On the one hand, it makes all of their interactions just a little bit more stressful, a little bit more _charged_ (they could totally kiss one day, Jared thinks to himself, when they're sitting in his room, or at least it wouldn’t be a total logistical impossibility). On the other hand, at least it means there’s no chance of anyone else figuring out how Jared feels.

One Tuesday, a little over three weeks since Jared started tutoring Connor, he’s standing at his locker sorting out all of his shit for the day when Evan comes up to him, looking noticeably more flustered than usual, which Jared didn’t think was even possible.

“Hey, um, can I ask you something? It’s sort of, advice. I guess.”

Oh jeez. Evan has an unfortunate propensity for getting himself into absurdly convoluted disastrous situations, and it’s not really the sort of thing Jared wants to help deal with at 7.30 on a Tuesday morning. But, also, Jared can almost hear the frustrated tearfulness creeping into Evan’s voice, and he’s even less equipped to cope with Evan _crying_ at 7.30 on a Tuesday morning.

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Okay. Um, um. Uh.” The poor kid’s stuttering like a broken record, apparently reluctant to get to the point of the conversation that _he_ started.

“Jesus, spit it out, I’ve got a shit ton of homework to blag through before first period.”

Evan shakes his head like he’s physically trying to reboot his own brain. “Sorry. So, um, Zoe Murphy added me on Facebook? And followed me on Instagram? On the same day?”

"You have Instagram?” Jared thinks he might have seen Evan post, like, one poorly filtered picture of a tree back in 2013 but that very easily could have been a fever dream.

“Yes. It doesn’t matter.” There goes that irritated little shake of the head again. “Anyway, do you think, um, well, if you had a crush on someone and they, they did that, do you think it means something?”

It takes everything in Jared’s power not to burst out laughing. Not so much at the fact that Evan’s drastically overthinking things as usual. It’s more that Connor very much has _not_ reached out to Jared on any form of social media, other than asking for his number three weeks ago, and their text conversations are pretty much limited to dry practical matters like what Connor's got to do for his math homework, so that totally doesn’t count. To be fair, Jared doesn’t think Connor even _uses_ social media - he tried to search for him on Facebook and the only profile that came up that _could_ have been the right Connor Murphy didn’t even have a profile picture, so that was a total bust. Either way, though, Jared isn’t in the best position to answer that question.

“I don’t know, dude,” Jared concedes. “I mean, you have classes together, right? Isn’t it just, kind of, this decade’s unspoken high school etiquette to add your classmates on social media?”

“I guess,” Evan says. And then, a little quieter, “People don’t usually do that for me, though.”

He suddenly looks so downtrodden that Jared _has_ to say something to cheer him up.

“Hey. I guess you’ll just have to wait and see if she starts thirst-liking all of your pictures or something.”

Evan actually physically blushes. “Oh my God, what? No, I don’t think she’d, uh-”

“Jared?”

Jared’s heart jolts so sharply that he’s briefly concerned for his own health.

Of fucking _course_ Connor Murphy would actually attempt to talk to him at school for the first time just as he’s about to make a totally invasive and off-color joke about Zoe’s social media habits.

“Hey, Connor,” he says breezily, turning around and trying to look like his internal monologue doesn’t currently exclusively consist of curse words.

Connor offers a tense, twitchy nod in response.

“Hey. Sorry. I would have texted you, but.” He pauses for a second, biting his lip. “I - I don’t have my phone.”

“It’s all good, dude.” Jared’s rate of internal swearing accelerates rapidly. Dude? _Really_?

Connor nods again, and his eyes briefly flicker across to Evan who, bless his pure, eager-to-please heart, shoots a nervous, disarming grin in Connor’s direction.

“Could I maybe stay later tonight?” Connor says, his voice quiet and strained like this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to ask. Like he’s already expecting Jared to turn him down, laugh in his face. “Only for… an hour. Or something like that. I just, um.” Another glance across at Evan. What looks like an attempt at a casual shrug, but it's stiff, wooden, like the real Connor's been temporarily replaced by a shitty actor. “I’ve got this test next week, and-”

“Of course,” Jared says, even though there are several alarm bells ringing in his brain because Connor staying until 7 means he’ll be there when Jared’s parents get home, and Jared is _not_ ready for the introducing-his-crush-to-his-terrifyingly-perceptive-parents chat. “Don’t worry about it, bro.”

And then, as if the _bro_ wasn’t cringey enough on top of the previous _dude_ , Jared reaches forward and gives Connor a friendly punch on the arm. Connor actually fucking flinches away, eyebrows furrowed in alarm and confusion like he’s totally flummoxed by a completely standard good-natured gesture.

“Anyway,” Jared blurts out, desperate to save this interaction before it plummets into the history books of embarrassing social encounters. “I’ll see you in Chemistry?”

If anything, Connor just looks _more_ confused.

“We have Chemistry together… right?” Jared tries. “Fourth period? I’ll see you then?”

There’s an agonising moment of silence as Connor, apparently, tries to decipher what shouldn’t be a remotely cryptic statement.

“Right,” he says, at last, actually sounding a little surprised. “Yeah, I’ll, uh. See you in Chemistry.”

And there it is, that nervous - is nervous even the right word - little smile, threatening to send Jared into full blown gay crisis mode before he’s even made it to first period. Then Connor turns on his heel and walks away, looking like he’s trying very hard not to break into a run.

“You’re tutoring Connor Murphy,” Evan says as soon as Connor’s out of earshot. It’s halfway between a statement and a question.

“Oh, shit, yeah, did I not tell you?” Jared says, very much aware that he has deliberately avoided telling Evan, who is probably only slightly less perceptive than his own freaking parents, anything of the sort.

Evan shakes his head.

“Yeah. He’s, uh. People talk shit about him all the time, right? But he’s actually pretty chill.”

“Mm-hm.” Evan’s expression is unreadable. “Please don’t tell him? About me and Zoe? I don’t want him to, you know-”

“Dude, I don’t think there’s anything _to_ tell,” Jared says, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Don’t worry. If Zoe slides into your DMs asking for _tree pictures_ or whatever, your secret’s safe with me.”

Jared slams his locker shut and retreats before Evan can decipher the euphemism and start spontaneously combusting.

***

Connor isn’t there when Jared gets to Chemistry. It’s not really alarming, or anything. Connor’s very rarely exactly on time for anything, Jared’s noticed, apart from their tutoring sessions, and that’s probably only because Connor’s desperate to get out of school as quickly as possible. And Connor’s absence at least means Jared won’t be visibly flustered when he goes to sit down next to Maddie.

To be fair, Maddie isn’t the absolute worst as lab partners go. But Jared’s very much aware that he’s on thin ice whenever he talks to her, because she has the unfortunate distinction of being in a long term, committed, full-blown-heterosexual-PDA-in-the-halls relationship with Adam Adamski, who was Jared’s best friend until eighth grade when it turned out that Adam was, in fact, irredeemably evil. Jared can’t really blame the guy for being a horrific bully, because he has to compensate for that unfortunate name somehow, but he’d rather not inadvertently pass on any information to Maddie that has even the slightest chance of giving Adam the upper hand over him. Jared’s gotten pretty good at avoiding Adam over the past two years, and he’s very happy keeping it that way.

So, naturally, Adam chooses today to come over and canoodle with his girlfriend before class.

“Hey, Mads,” he says in a tone so slimy it verges on caricature, sidling up and placing one hand on her hip. “I’m really sorry, babe, I’m gonna have to cancel on movie night tonight. Coach just scheduled a super late practice, so.”

Jared is absolutely confident that their school’s baseball team does not have evening practices in early February, but he’s not quite invested or foolhardy enough to call Adam out on whatever fishy shit is _clearly_ going on there.

“That’s fine, baby,” Maddie says, and Jared has to try and look busy flipping through his notebook as they start actually, properly making out in the middle of the chemistry lab. Which is definitely a breach of some obscure lab safety rule, come to think of it.

And then he feels a hand clapping him on the back.

“Oh, hey, Jared! Long time no see!” At this point Jared reckons it would be possible to bottle Adam’s voice and dump it over celebrities at the Kids’ Choice Awards.

“Hey, Adam,” Jared says, utterly deadpan. He glances quickly at the door, inwardly praying that Mr Webb will come in and start teaching before he has to put up with _too_ much of Adam’s bullshit.

“I saw something _really_ interesting today,” Adam continues.

“Good for you.”

“Yeah. Before school I thought I saw you talking to Connor Murphy.”

If his life were a movie, Jared would have heard a record needle scratch right about there.

“Are you sure about that?” Jared tries very hard to keep his voice light and casual.

“I’m positive, so don’t bullshit me, Jared.” And there it is, that menace that always slips in midway through any conversation Adam has with him. “I just didn’t realize you were _that_ desperate."

Jared wheels around in his seat to face Adam directly.

“What do you mean, _desperate_?”

“I mean, I know you don’t have any friends, but I didn’t think you were so desperate that you’d start hanging out with Connor Murphy.”

“Fuck _off_.” Jared rolls his eyes, preparing to turn back around to show Adam just how utterly indifferent he is to this whole exchange.

“Hey, there’s no need to get defensive, jeez.” There’s a pause before Adam’s face spreads into a grin that’s positively dripping with malice. “You must _really_ like him, huh?”

Jared suddenly feels like he's going to throw up.

Objectively he knows, he’s _certain_ Adam can’t know about Connor, he probably doesn’t even know that Jared’s _gay_ because if he did he’d already have told the whole school by now because there's no way Adam would ever miss out on such a golden opportunity to destroy his life, but oh God he can’t risk him finding out.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jared tries to sound as casual as possible, like he’s just engaging in semi-friendly banter rather than teetering on the precipice of what feels like mortal fucking peril. “We’re not even friends.”

“Bullshit, I saw you.”

“Seriously,” Jared snaps, and suddenly he doesn’t even care that he’s raising his voice because he just needs to get _through_ to Adam. “I’m just tutoring him. And I didn’t even _want_ to, before you start that crap, Mrs Walker volunteered me and I didn’t have a fucking choice in the matter. I was only talking to him this morning about tutoring stuff.”

Now Maddie’s smiling, leaning forward like she can’t wait to join in on the action.

“Yeah, but, like, you’re totally going to end up _being_ friends, aren’t you? That’s what always happens. Even if you’re not friends now-”

“No, that’s _not_ going to fucking happen. We’re not friends, I don’t _want_ to be his friend, we’re never going to _be_ friends, alright? I don’t get why you’re so _obsessed_ with this.”

In response, Maddie inclines her head ever so slightly toward the doorway.

Jared barely turns around, and there’s Connor, staring back at him.

The worst thing is, he doesn’t even look surprised. Not even _disappointed_. Just sort of. Tired.

Like he’d been expecting this all along.

For a few seconds, time seems to stand still. And then Connor lets out a barely audible scoff, shaking his head ever so slightly as if to say _I knew it_ , and he goes to sit down on the other side of the lab.

As soon as Connor’s back out of earshot, Maddie and Adam burst out laughing.

“Aw, Jared, I think you hurt his _feelings_ ,” Maddie says in an affected baby voice.

Jared knows there’s literally no way for him to respond without somehow digging himself deeper. Not without outright agreeing with Maddie, saying some shit like _Yeah, I know, I guess he actually thought we were friends, which is pathetic_. Even the thought of that makes him feel violently sick.

So he just rolls his eyes and doesn’t say another word.

The next hour seems to crawl by. Jared keeps trying to glance furtively across the room at Connor, but Connor sits a few rows behind him so that turns out to be impossible without being totally obvious. So he’s forced to just sit there and get on with the work, making enough small talk with Maddie that she doesn’t get suspicious, and hope that Connor isn't paying enough attention to take that as another fucking insult.

Connor’s out of his seat as soon as the bell goes, darting out of the room before Jared even has time to react. Thankfully, Maddie’s distracted by the fact that she’s now free to go over to Adam’s bench for another sloppy makeout (how on earth did they survive being separated for a whole hour), so Jared can sneak out in pursuit without worrying about wrecking the unbothered façade he’s been keeping up all period.

“Hey, Connor, wait up!” he calls out as soon as he’s out of the lab.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Connor starts walking even faster, shoulders hunched so much they’re practically touching his ears, he’d be doing very well at pretending like he didn’t even hear Jared.

“ _Connor_!” All dignity forgotten, Jared breaks into a weird half jog in an attempt to catch up. He briefly gets stuck behind a gaggle of freshmen who have decided the middle of the hallway is a great place to stand and check their phones, but manages to force his way through with the help of his elbows and some snide commentary just in time to see Connor slipping down the weird back hall that leads to the one side exit nobody ever uses unless they’re sneaking out of school to smoke or have sex or whatever. By the time Jared catches up to him, Connor’s almost reached the door.

“Connor, hey, listen, I can explain, alright?” Jared tries.

This finally gets Connor to stop and turn around.

“You know, for someone who wants nothing to do with me, you’re doing a shit job of leaving me alone.” Connor’s tone is so unexpectedly light, almost casual, that for a brief moment Jared thinks he’s totally misread the situation and Connor isn’t even mad or upset at all. But there’s no mistaking the absolute coldness in his eyes.

“I didn’t _mean_ any of that,” Jared says, fully aware of how whiny he sounds right now. “You know Adam and Maddie are assholes, they’re-”

“So, what, you were just _ashamed_ to admit that-” Connor cuts himself off, shaking his head and actually stepping backwards a little bit. “No. Bullshit. You were just pretending to be my friend, _right_?”

Jared hates how, as much as he tries to disguise it, Connor’s voice wavers a little on that last word.

“Dude, _no_ , I-”

“You were planning this all along.” Connor’s voice has dropped to a quiet murmur, almost like he’s talking to himself, trying to rationalize the situation. “Yeah. It all works out for you. You get your extra credit for tutoring me-”

“I’m not even _getting_ extra credit for this!”

“And then,” Connor’s suddenly yelling, sharp, almost pained-sounding gasps forcing their way out between every few words. “You can go around telling everyone how I’m so _stupid_ , how I’m failing math, and yeah, even fucking better, it turns out I was pathetic, I was fucking _delusional_ enough to start thinking you actually wanted to be my _friend_.”

“Dude, that’s not what fucking _happened_ ,” Jared cuts in, and he knows it’s stupid but he tries to move closer to Connor.

“Fuck _off_!” Connor lunges forward suddenly, shoving Jared back with so much force that he actually has to brace himself against the wall to stop himself from falling over. Then he steps backwards, still taking jagged, heaving breaths that make his shoulders shudder, squeezing his eyes shut over and over as his right fist clenches and unclenches helplessly by his side.

When he finally speaks again, barely looking in Jared’s direction with eyes that are wet with tears and tinged with a horrible undercurrent of what looks almost like fear, his voice is quieter again and awfully, unmistakably choked up. “Don’t ever fucking talk to me again.”

And he turns and runs - actually fucking _runs_ \- out of the side exit, letting the door slam behind him.

Jared barely takes in anything from the next few hours. He makes it to class, because it’s not like he can just skip class, and besides, what would he do anyway, huddle up in a bathroom stall and cry like a self-pitying idiot until the end of the day? He even tries to get on with work, even though it feels like someone’s ripped out his brain and stuffed his head with cotton balls. So, sure, he’s just going through the motions, but anything less than that and he’ll just end up giving away how utterly shitty he feels right now. And he’d rather get through the rest of the day without drawing unnecessary attention to himself, especially when it feels like Maddie and Adam are still waiting around every corner, just looking for him to fuck up and admit that actually, he really fucking cares about Connor. That, as a matter of fact, he’s feeling borderline heartbroken right now.

He hopes, at the very least, like he’ll feel a little more grounded, a little further from the edge of an actual mental breakdown, by the time he gets to his last period Spanish class with Evan, but no such luck. Midway through class - he couldn’t tell exactly _when_ if he tried - Evan reaches across the aisle and taps him tentatively on the shoulder.

“Jared?”

“Huh, what?” Jared blinks his way back to reality, flashing a quick, strained smile in Evan’s general direction.

“Are you, um, I’m sorry if I’m being - is everything okay?”

Before Jared can cut in with a curt 'Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t it be? _'_ , Evan stammers into action again, tilting his head to one side with an expression of concern that’s so pronounced it would almost look like he was putting it on if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s _Evan_.

“Sorry, it’s just, you’ve been, uh, for the past twenty minutes…” Evan gestures at Jared’s desk, and Jared looks down to realise that he’s been apparently systematically, absentmindedly tearing his worksheet to shreds ever since it was handed to him.

“ _Shit_.” Jared rubs his hands over his face. “No, it’s fine, I was just. I’m. I’m not feeling well. That’s all. I think I ate something weird at lunch.”

“I’m sorry,” says Evan, with a tone of total sincerity that almost reduces Jared to tears on the spot. And then, with the air of someone desperately trying to be optimistic against all odds, “If you want, you can, uh, you can use my worksheet? I’m finished, so. You can even just use my answers, if you want, if that… helps at all.”

“Great. Thanks, bro.” Jared knows his voice sounds horribly flat and lifeless, but he’s hoping his dodgy cafeteria food story might have thrown Evan off the scent.

“Do you need to go to the nurse?” Evan’s voice is almost unbearably gentle as he places the worksheet on Jared’s desk. As if _he’d_ be able to do anything about it. Evan would probably sit quietly and suffer his way through a freaking heart attack because he wouldn’t want to be a nuisance. He’s not exactly going to leap out of his seat in a bout of heroics and beg to escort Jared to the nurse's office because of some fake food poisoning.

“No, Jesus.” Jared waves one hand dismissively in Evan’s general direction. “We’ve only got, like, half an hour left, right? I’ll live.”

He can see out of the corner of his eye that Evan doesn’t look remotely convinced. Thankfully, though, Evan _also_ looks like he has no idea how to push the matter further without making himself desperately uncomfortable, and he just nods to himself and goes back to his own work.

Jared doesn’t bother waiting for Connor after school. He knows he’s not going to show up, and frankly even if he did Jared would probably just start crying and if he’s already irreparably damaged his burgeoning friendship with Connor then he might as well try and come out of this awful fucking situation with a tiny shred of dignity. So instead he heads straight to his car and drives home.

By the time his mom gets in, just after 6, Jared has moved onto the “lying in bed, 90% under the blankets, and watching a Vine compilation that’s mostly the same as the last 3 Vine compilations” stage of grief. He just about hears her knock on his bedroom door over the sound of some guy sure hoping that the road does, indeed, work ahead.

“Heya, Jare, can I come in?”

Jared sighs, propping himself vaguely upright. “I guess.”

Literally half a second later, his mom opens the door.

“Hey! What are you doing in bed so early, hm? Is everything okay?”

Jared shrugs. “Yeah. I have a headache, that’s all.”

His mom sighs, shooting a smile in his direction that clearly says _You think I’m a complete moron, don’t you?_

“Well, lying in bed with your nose practically touching your computer screen isn’t gonna help you out there, honey,” she says, beckoning for Jared to hand the laptop over. Reluctantly, he complies, and she puts the computer on Jared’s desk before coming back to perch on the edge of his bed. “Did you have a nice day at school?”

Jared shrugs again. “Yeah, sure, until my brain started trying to violently break out of my skull.”

His mom shakes her head, shuffles a little closer, cups Jared’s face with one hand.

“Hey,” she says, slightly tentatively. She’s always been a little more awkward with emotional shit than Jared’s dad. Jared totally takes after her in that regard, even if he doesn’t share her weird artsy inclinations in the slightest. “You know, uh. You can always talk to me, or your dad, about anything, right? I know it probably seems like we won’t understand, or we won’t be able to help, or whatever, but we can _try_ , okay?”

Jared shuts his eyes and slides down until he’s lying flat on his back.

“Yeah, I’m sure talking’s going to do _wonders_ for my headache.”

His mom tuts. “ _Jared_ -”

“I’m trying to sleep,” Jared snaps, and pulls the blankets over his head.

He hears his mom lingering for a minute or so longer before she finally walks out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.

Half an hour later, Jared drifts awake - he hadn’t even realized he’d _actually_ gone to sleep - to the sound of his dad coming home. Then he hears murmuring downstairs. It’s clearly meant to be out of his earshot, but his parents’ dumb open concept first floor doesn't exactly lend itself to soundproofing. Jared can’t quite make out everything, but he hears enough choice phrases - “ _not himself_ ”, “ _worried about him_ ”, “ _pushing us away_ ” - to know that he probably has about two minutes before his dad comes upstairs to play his part in the emotional support tag team his parents have apparently got going. Next thing he knows fucking _Spaghetti’s_ going to gain the power of speech and haul herself upstairs to tell Jared she’s always there and Willing To Listen if he Needs To Talk.

Jared pulls himself out of bed and shuts his bedroom door. This time, he makes sure to lock it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to my main dudes rachel (evol_love on here, mlbevan on tumblr) and anna (phonecallfromgod on here and tumblr) for the help and support. they're the best & have written some absolutely stunning fics of their own so please check them out!!
> 
> also come & say hi to me on tumblr @coniello. i make sure to curate a blog filled with only the worst posts for my lovely readers


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i'm back hi sorry. posting these next two chapters as a double bill both because they really come as a pair anyway and as an apology for just kinda forgetting to update on here despite the fact that i currently have 6.5 chapters of this fic written. and for the whole "posting this chapter and then doing a sneaky delete because it wasn't actually ready to post but i was a dumbass and accidentally deleted chapter ONE instead" thing. whoops

For the rest of the week, Connor avoids talking to Jared, and Jared avoids talking to anyone. He avoids his parents as much as he can, hiding up in his room with the door locked whenever he’s home and only coming down to fetch sad-looking plates of leftovers for dinner at like 9pm, and he avoids Evan for good measure because he can’t deal with anyone shooting sympathetic queries and concerned glances in his direction when his current state of abject misery is, objectively, 100% his fault. And he’s not in the mood to talk to anyone else, because his camp friends are probably all busy with their own shit and he’s not close enough to any of the other people he hangs out with at school to even begin to talk about his problems and he doesn’t want to just be some moody presence on the edge of a group, draining the energy from every conversation he’s a part of. So he keeps himself to himself, and decides to be grateful that at least Mrs Walker hasn’t come up to him in the middle of math class to say that Connor wants a different tutor or something.

On Friday, at the start of the lunch hour, Jared gets a text from Evan.

_ Hi :) Sorry if you’re busy but are we sitting together at lunch today? _

Jared wants to text back a simple “No”, but he’s pretty sure Evan wouldn’t initiate any kind of social contact unless there was a legitimate life-threatening emergency (or whatever constitutes a life-threatening emergency in the weird world according to Evan Hansen), and the mere thought of Evan sitting there alone at their regular cafeteria table fighting back stressed tears is enough to convince him to stop moping for, like, five seconds in order to sort of vaguely attempt to be a good friend to  _ someone _ .

But when he gets to their table, Evan doesn’t look remotely upset. Which is certainly unusual. In fact, he looks positively  _ exuberant _ .

“Hey,” Jared says as he sits down. “What’s the deal?”

Evan beams back at him. “I just  _ actually  _ talked to Zoe.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Of  _ course  _ Evan gets to have a positive Murphy sibling encounter in the midst of all this bullshit with Connor. Jared doesn’t want to sound like a bratty little kid, but it just isn’t fair.

Suddenly, any desire to be a supportive friend has dissipated entirely.

“Wow. Really?” Jared keeps his voice totally flat. Evan frowns a little, clearly thrown off-kilter by the lack of enthusiasm. Whatever. He’d better get used to it.

“Yeah. We were, uh, we were in our pottery class, and, I don’t know, we’ve been making these vases and I finished throwing mine really quickly, I mean, not to brag, that’s totally because I’ve spent so much time with your mom so it’s not really because of  _ me _ , but, anyway, Zoe was. Hers wasn’t going so well? So our teacher asked me to help her out, because I’d finished.”

Evan pauses, a stiff little grin on his face, clearly waiting for a response.

“Great,” Jared says, spearing a rock hard piece of broccoli with his fork. The gesture’s probably more aggressive than it really needs to be.

“Yeah. And afterwards she was like, thank you so much, you’re really good at this, you didn’t have to help out like that but, but. But you did.”

“Well, you did kind of have to help,” Jared points out impatiently. “You were asked to.”

“Right, right, I know, but even so, it’s, uh.” Evan hesitates for a moment. “It’s nice, that she was so grateful. Sort of like, I’m sure it’s nice when Connor, when he thanks you for tutoring him.”

Jared feels violently sick all of a sudden. 

“I know it’s not really the same because you don’t, because I have this… I  _ like  _ Zoe,” Evan continues, his train of thought clearly careening down an increasingly rickety track. “And obviously that’s, that’s totally different to you and Connor, really, but-”

“Yeah, I get the point. Stop babbling,  _ Jesus _ .”

“Oh - I - sorry.” Evan splutters to a halt, shaking his head like he’s mentally telling himself off for getting carried away. When he starts talking again, though, his voice is still high, grating, totally fucking infuriating. “Anyway, I was like, it’s no big deal, I’m just, if I could help at all then that’s really great and then Zoe said that  _ I  _ was-”

Jared can’t take this any longer.

“No offense, Evan, but I’ve had a stressful fucking week and I’m not in the mood to hear about you and Zoe Murphy reenacting highlights from  _ Ghost _ , okay?” he snaps. “I don’t  _ care _ , alright? Just because you helped her with school shit  _ one  _ time and she actually bothered to add you on Facebook, like a normal fucking person, that doesn’t mean she suddenly wants to spoon you, or whatever. Get  _ over  _ yourself.”

Even though the rest of the cafeteria, oblivious to Jared’s outburst, keeps up a lively chatter, he can’t help but feel like a deathly hush has descended over their table. Evan stares back at him, wide eyes already wet with unshed tears, and Jared wants so badly to apologize but frankly he just can’t motivate himself to, not when that would encourage Evan to keep on blabbing about his newfound friendship with Zoe Murphy when that’s just about the last fucking thing Jared wants to hear about right now.

So he says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Evan whispers at last, his voice breaking. A tear rolls down his cheek.

Jared stays silent.

“I should go.” Evan pushes his half-eaten tray of food away from him.

“Yeah. You should.”

Evan stands up slowly, rubbing at his sternum with one hand, tears now streaming down his face. Jared feels like  _ shit _ . But if he apologizes, or freaking  _ hugs _ Evan, or anything like that then  _ he’ll  _ probably start crying too, he’ll start actually fucking crying at school for the first time since he was thirteen, and he probably won’t be able to stop and he’ll end up telling Evan  _ everything  _ and Evan can’t know any of this shit. He just  _ can’t _ .

And then, with one final, whispered, “Sorry”, Evan walks away, wiping ineffectually at his eyes, and Jared watches as he breaks into a run when he’s nearly out of the cafeteria doors.

And for the second time that week, Jared is alone.

This time he doesn’t bother staying in school. Not when half his afternoon classes contain either Evan or Connor. He’s never skipped school before, he’s barely ever even off sick, and he knows this probably makes him a total fucking coward, but he just can’t face either of them, not anymore, not today.

He’s just fucking tired.

So he makes his way to the nurse’s office and spouts some bullshit about having just thrown up, which isn’t really that far from the truth because he’s pretty certain he  _ would  _ vomit if he had to look at Evan or Connor right now, and when the nurse offers to call his parents he hastily promises that he’ll be okay to drive home. The nurse looks a little suspicious, but Jared reckons his hitherto near-perfect attendance record works in his favor or something because she just shakes her head and lets him know he’s free to go.

Jared barely takes in any of the journey home, practically driving on autopilot because all he can think of is how totally fucking  _ alone  _ he is. And it’s his fault. Because he’s too emotionally constipated to deal with his problems like a mature human being, he just has to lash out like a spoiled toddler who needs a freaking nap every time someone reminds him of something he doesn’t want to think about. Like, no wonder he’s managed to alienate his best friend  _ and  _ his crush within three days of each other.

When he gets home he slams the door behind him and throws his backpack on the floor, and is ready to kick his shoes off and storm up to his room when he hears movement from the kitchen.

“Hello? Jared, is that you?”

His dad only teaches in the morning on Fridays.  Shit.

“Yeah,” Jared calls out.  “I felt sick so I came home. I’m going upstairs.” 

To his total fucking horror and alarm, his voice wavers sharply as he speaks, suddenly turning choked and watery like someone turned a faucet on in the back of his throat.

So much for not drawing attention to his current clusterfuck of an emotional state.

“I’m sorry, bud,” his dad says, emerging from the kitchen. Jared hastily tries to force his mouth into a straight line despite how violently his chin is quivering all of a sudden. “How about you head on up to your room and I’ll bring you a glass of water in a second?”

Jared shrugs, and trudges up the stairs.

He’s tempted to lock the door again when he gets to his room, but something - maybe the fact that he feels so horribly, horribly lonely right now and a part of him, like a pathetic little kid, just  _ desperately  _ wants to be comforted - stops him. Instead he sits cross-legged on his bed, wrapping his blankets around himself like a cocoon, and he waits.

His dad comes in a minute later and places a glass of water on Jared’s nightstand before sitting down next to him.

“Listen, Jare,” he says. “I know it probably seems like your mom and I are hopelessly out of touch and will never understand you-”

Jared makes a vague noise of protest, and his dad throws his hands up defensively.

“Hey, it’s fine, I felt exactly the same way about my parents when I was your age. But we  _ can  _ tell when something’s up.” He puts one arm around Jared’s shoulders. “What’s going on, hm?”

“ _ Nothing _ . I’m just sick.”

“Jared.” His dad’s voice is loving, but firm.

Jared sighs. “I don’t know. Just  _ stuff _ .”

“School stuff?” his dad tries, and Jared just shrugs in response. “Is it the classes?”

Jared shakes his head.

“The people?” Apparently Jared isn’t quite quick enough at hiding the way his shoulders tense instinctively, because his dad immediately squeezes his arm in a supportive gesture. “Is someone bothering you at school?”

Jared makes another noncommittal noise.

“Jared, kiddo, you’re going to have to help me out a  _ little  _ bit here.”

Yeah. Objectively, Jared knows that. But that doesn’t mean it’s remotely easy.

“No. No one’s bothering me.” He pauses. Takes a deep breath. Tries to ignore the weird, tight, stinging feeling rising back up in his throat. 

“So what’s the matter?”

Jared thinks for a moment. He  _ wants  _ to carry on insisting that nothing’s wrong, but frankly he doesn’t have enough energy left in him to keep up that particularly egregious lie. But what  _ can  _ he say? This guy he’s meant to be tutoring, this guy his parents don’t even know exist, hates him and it’s his fault? His former best friend, whom his parents don’t even know he’s fallen out with, is like  _ this  _ close to figuring out that Jared’s gay - oh, yeah, another fucking thing his parents don’t know - and that he has this huge crush on the guy he’s tutoring, who just happens to be the biggest outcast in the school and even  _ without  _ the gay thing openly having a crush on him would be social suicide? That he’s so fucking stressed and bitter and incapable of dealing with his emotions like a normal person that he made Evan, his actual best friend, his  _ only  _ real friend at school, cry just because he was jealous of him having a decent interaction with his own crush? That he doesn’t know how much longer he can carry on bottling shit up and pretending everything’s okay because it feels like even his own  _ parents  _ are getting tired of it, that everything feels like so much all the time and he feels lonely and scared and trapped and like he’s losing everyone he’s ever cared about, he’s fucked up everything beyond repair and-

“Jared? Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His dad’s voice is softer now, the arm around Jared’s shoulders pulling him closer, as Jared dissolves into tears.

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” Jared wails, because it’s easier than saying  _ Everything, everything’s wrong _ , and his dad wraps his other arm around him, stroking his hair, gently shushing him.

“That’s okay. It’s okay. Take your time.”

“It’s just - everything’s just- everyone-” Jared can’t even finish his sentence now, he’s sobbing so hard, breaths coming out in great big ugly gulps and gasps. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of his dad. Part of him’s scared he won’t be able to stop.

“Oh, Jared.” His dad falters for a moment, clearly lost for words. Jared can’t really blame him. “I know things must seem so tough right now, but whatever happens, we’re all here for you. Me, your mom, your friends-”

“ _ What  _ friends?” Jared snaps.

Fuck.

“Well, you’ve got Evan, right? And-”

“Evan  _ hates  _ me.”

“I’m sure Evan doesn’t-”

“Yes, he  _ does _ ,” Jared says, wrenching himself out of his dad’s arms. And then, for good measure, even though he knows it’s completely unfair, he adds, “You don’t know  _ anything _ .”

“Because you won’t  _ tell  _ me anything,” his dad says, the slightest hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Then he stops for a moment, taking an actual fucking deep breath to collect himself. When he speaks again he’s so calm, so kind, that if Jared was able to cry any harder right now he definitely would. “What happened with Evan, hm?”

Jared shrugs. “I was stressed about - about something else, and I took it out on him, so now he hates me.”

“What were you stressed about?”

Jared can’t take one more fucking question

“I don’t know, the fact that multiple other people,  _ everyone  _ hates me right now.” The words come flooding out like a dam’s just burst. He hears his dad go to start speaking, probably some affectionate but totally unhelpful crap about  _ Who could possibly hate you  _ or whatever, and decides to cut him off preemptively. “Evan, Adam, my lab partner, this guy I’m tutoring, all of them hate me, and it’s  _ my  _ fault, so-”

“Okay, okay.” His dad places one hand back on his shoulder. “I know this probably feels so tough and scary and overwhelming at the moment, right? But if you can maybe tell me what happened, if we can figure all that out together, that might make things feel a bit more manageable?”

“I know exactly what happened,” Jared mutters, and he goes to wipe his eyes indignantly even though he is still very much actively sobbing.

“Okay, well, if you tell me then maybe I can  _ attempt  _ to offer some fatherly wisdom-”

“I  _ can’t  _ tell you!” Jared’s yelling suddenly, and he feels like shit for it, he  _ knows  _ his dad is just trying to help but he’s getting into dangerous territory and this conversation needs to  _ stop _ .

“Jared.” His dad’s voice is so quiet, so unbelievably calm in contrast to the total chaos whirling around inside Jared’s head. “I don’t want to pressure you, but you’re starting to scare me a little here.”

Jared doesn’t -  _ can’t  _ -say anything.

“I’m here for you, okay?” his dad continues. “Whatever happened, I promise I won’t judge you. Alright?”

Jared shakes his head. “It’s too complicated.”

“And I’ve got no plans for the rest of the afternoon. So I can be here and listen for as long as you need.”

Jared knows his dad isn’t going to back down. There’s a tightness in his chest all of a sudden. He starts thinking about Evan again, how when he’s nervous he starts rubbing and tapping at his chest like he’s trying to physically massage his heart and lungs back into action. Jared had never really understood that before, he’d never really gotten why Evan always felt compelled to do that. But he does now.

“It’s just.” He stops for a second, sniffles loudly, tries to slow his breathing so he can actually fucking speak. It mostly works. “So this guy I’m tutoring. I didn’t want Adam to know we were kind of friends. Because Adam’s an asshole, by the way, we haven’t been friends since, like, eighth grade but that’s old news and I’m totally over it. And, I don’t know, everyone thinks this guy is kind of a loser and I guess I knew if Adam knew we were friends he’d give me crap for it. But, yeah, Adam came up to me in class and said he saw me hanging out with Connor - the guy I’m tutoring - and, I don’t know, I freaked out and said I didn’t want to be friends with Connor and he overheard everything and now he’s told me to never speak to him again so, yeah. That’s kind of where I’m at right now.”

“Oh, Jared. That’s really tough. I’m sorry.” His dad shuffles around on the bed a little, deep in thought.

The silence is agonising, and suddenly Jared feels compelled to fill it.

“That’s not the whole thing, though.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He’s completely just backed himself into a corner for  _ no  _ reason, other than some small part of him suddenly wanting his dad to know  _ everything _ , this weird but totally overpowering compulsion that he can’t even begin to explain to  _ himself _ . And it fucking feels like he’s physically trapped as well, like the walls of his bedroom are closing in on him and his chest is still too tight and he’s choking on the sobs welling up in his throat all over again.

“What else is it?”

“I don’t know. Forget it, it’s just - I didn’t want Adam to know because - he’s - because if he knew - I thought he’d guessed and-” God, Jared feels more and more like Evan by the minute, helplessly spitting out fragments of half-formed and hastily discarded sentences that feel like glass in his throat, scraping at his windpipe, tearing his lungs apart,

“Jared? Jared, it’s okay, it’s okay, just breathe.” His dad’s hand moves to Jared’s back, rubbing between his shoulder blades like he’s trying to make Jared’s lungs start working again himself. “I’m trying to follow you, I promise, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to-”

“I thought he knew I have a crush on Connor,  _ alright _ ?” Jared suddenly spits the words out far louder than he intended, so loud they reverberate in his ears, so loud it feels like they’re echoing off the walls, multiplying and expanding and filling the room until he’s drowning in them and even so he just can’t stop fucking  _ talking _ . “Okay, that’s it, I’m gay, I really  _ like  _ Connor, I like him  _ so  _ much and if Adam found out he’d tell  _ everyone _ , he’d fucking  _ destroy  _ me and I was  _ scared  _ so I acted like I hated Connor and now Connor  _ definitely  _ hates me and I don’t know what to  _ do _ .”

And just like that, there’s silence, broken only by his own hysterical sobs.

Jared feels like he’s suffocating.

And then, a few moments later, his dad pulls him into a hug, fiercely protective, rocking him backwards and forwards ever so slightly.

“Oh, Jared.” He sounds so fucking sympathetic that it just makes Jared cry harder, which didn’t really seem possible. “Jared, I love you so much, your mom and I love you so, so much, and I promise it’s going to be okay. I know it probably doesn’t feel like it right now. But everything’s going to be okay.”   
  
Jared isn’t really sure about that, so he just throws his arms around his dad’s neck and continues sobbing. He stays like that for several minutes, crying until he’s not really sure he’s crying about Connor or Evan or how clumsily he just revealed everything, until it feels like he’s crying just because he can, just because he’s been holding back tears for fuck knows how long and he needs to get them out. And all the time, his dad holds him close.   
  
When Jared’s tears finally subside into infrequent, watery hiccups, his dad offers him a reassuring pat on the back.   
  
“Hey. You’re probably not going to want to hear this, but I think you’re just going to have to talk to Evan. And Connor.” Jared tenses. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk about  _ that _ , not if you don’t want to, not right now. But at least let them know you didn’t mean to upset them. And that you’re sorry. And I guess you can at least tell Connor that you don’t want things to be awkward when you’re tutoring him. Does that sound doable?”   
  
Jared nods, sniffling, even though every single thing his dad just suggested still feels pretty freaking impossible. But he just kind of wants this conversation to be over now.   
  
“Good.” His dad pulls away, keeping one hand on Jared’s shoulder. “And as for Adam, if he tries to do  _ anything  _ to hurt you, you tell me right away and we’ll figure out how to deal with it together, alright? Whatever happens, you won’t have to go it alone.” He sighs, reaching out to wipe away some of Jared’s tears. “Now, I bet you’re probably exhausted, right? How about you get some rest, and look at all of this with fresh eyes later on?”   
  
“Okay,” Jared whispers shakily.   
  
His dad gets up, moves towards the door.   
  
“I promise everything will work out sooner or later, okay?” he says, once he’s standing in the doorway. “I love you, Jared.”   
  
Jared just about manages a teary smile.   
  
“Love you too.”   
  
And then he lies down, pulling the blanket all the way over his head, and shuts his eyes.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the weekend is weird, to say the least.

Half an hour or so after Jared wakes up on Saturday morning, the vague feeling that he’s slept through a post-sobbing headache lingering in the back of his skull, his mom comes into his bedroom and asks how he’s feeling, and nothing she says explicitly confirms exactly how much she knows but Jared strongly suspects his dad has clued her in on at least _some_ of the more pertinent details. On Sunday, his parents take him out to dinner as a “nice surprise”, and they don’t give him any particular reason but they spend the entire meal telling him that they’re proud of him and that he’s their favorite kid (“I’m your _only_ kid,” Jared protests, and his mom counters that with an offended reminder that Spaghetti _definitely_ counts), and it’s totally clear that the entire situation is meant to be some sort of try-hard “Congrats On Awkwardly Coming Out To Your Dad Whilst Having A Complete Mental Breakdown!” thing. But excruciatingly awkward as it is, it’s also not completely terrible.

Like, for one thing, it’s nice to feel like two people on earth still actually vaguely appreciate Jared’s existence.

Which is especially helpful considering he hasn’t plucked up the courage to apologize to Evan _or_ Connor. He keeps telling himself it’s because it would be nicer and more genuine to do it in person, and he doesn’t even know if Connor’s got his phone back so texting him might be a total waste of time, but really he just hasn’t properly apologized to another human being in, like, years, and he has no idea where or how to even begin.

Even so, by the time Jared gets to school on Monday morning, he’s at least feeling _slightly_ more optimistic about the week ahead.

Until he gets to his first period English class, which, in a double whammy of divine fuckery, he shares with both Connor and Evan. And to make matters worse, his teacher has decided that today is the perfect day for discussion in pairs about characterisation in _The Great Gatsby_ in preparation for some absolutely torturous-sounding oral assignment coming up in a few weeks. And out of the kindness of her heart, she’s even letting everyone choose their partners.

So, really, that optimism lasted all of twenty minutes.

As soon as everyone starts scrambling to get into pairs, Jared takes a furtive glance across the classroom. There’s Evan, one hand clutching at his chest already, eyes darting around the room with a weird combination of fear and hope like he’s half expecting his hitherto undiscovered best friend in the entire world to leap up and come bounding over to work with him. And there’s Connor, way in the back corner, trying very hard to look like he doesn’t give a shit about the flurry of activity around him but not quite succeeding.

Both of them look totally lost, in their own particular ways. And Jared knows, objectively, that he’s going to have to work with _one_ of them. But he’s pretty sure neither of them want anything to do with him and, shit, even if he took this as his opportunity to bite the bullet and go in for a sincere, in-person apology like an actual mature human being, he’s going to have to leave one person out and that’s just going to make the second apology even _harder_ . On balance, he should probably work with Connor, because Evan’s more likely to be forgiving at being actively left out, but then right as Jared’s about to make a beeline for Connor’s desk Evan looks directly at him and shit, of _course_ tears are welling up in those wide wounded puppy dog eyes of his, and suddenly Jared is totally frozen and he’s got to wonder if he’s going to have to reduce choosing between his best friend and his crush to a freaking coin flip.

He’s so caught up that he doesn’t notice the buzz around him dying down.

“Jared?”

Shit. He turns to see Mrs Talley - and the rest of the class, for good fucking measure - staring at him as he stands there in the middle of the room, sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb.

He can only stare helplessly back.

Mrs Talley sighs. “Okay, at least one other person’s got to be without a partner.”

Evan very tentatively raises his hand, just enough for his elbow to be hovering, like, an inch above his desk. Connor just stares into space. But, to be fair, the chasm of empty desks around him is in itself a pretty good indicator that he also doesn’t have anyone to work with.

Another sigh from Mrs Talley. “Ah. My apologies, I didn’t account for the fact that we’ve got someone off sick today. Well, in any case, Jared, Evan, and Connor, how about you all work in a group of three?”

Almost instantly, Connor launches himself out of his seat and, with a bitter “Fuck this”, storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Jared tries very hard to ignore how his heart seems to scrunch itself up inside his chest like a ball of scrap paper.

Instead, amongst the hushed whispers and giggles that always follow any of Connor’s outbursts, he makes his way over to sit next to Evan, who just offers a nervous glance in his direction before reverting to looking like he’s trying to subtly perform a shitty version of CPR on himself.

Shortly after Mrs Talley tells everyone to get to work, Evan finally speaks.

“Why does Connor hate me?”

Jared feels completely blindsided, to say the least. “Wait, _what_?”

“I mean, I just thought, because you two are friends so clearly it’s me he has a problem…” suddenly Evan’s eyes widen into fucking saucers, his voice crescendoing sharply in tandem. “ _Oh my God did you tell him I like_ -”

“No!” Jared cuts him off way more sharply than he intended. “This might surprise you, Evan, but not everything’s about you.”

Shit. Way to build up to that apology he was planning.

“Right. No, no, I know, I’m sorry,” Evan murmurs, folding himself up in his seat. He shuts his eyes tight, and it’s painfully fucking obvious that he’s trying very hard not to burst into tears again.

“Shit, no, I didn’t mean that, okay?” Jared lets his voice soften considerably, until it barely even sounds like him speaking. “Look. I actually wanted to apologize for being a dick on Friday. Even if I was a dick again just now, which totally undercuts the entire point of what I’m trying to do here.”

Evan doesn’t say anything.

“And Connor doesn’t hate you,” Jared continues. “Well. I mean, I don’t _think_ he does. But to be honest, I have no freaking idea what’s going on in his head. All I can tell you is he definitely hates me more.”

Evan frowns, still not looking directly at Jared. “But I thought… when he talked to you last week…”

“Yeah, well, things change,” Jared snaps, before forcing himself to take a deep breath. “Fuck. Sorry. I really am trying not to be a complete asshole here.”

“You’re not really succeeding,” Evan says.

“Yeah. I know.”

“What happened with Connor?” Evan finally looks up at Jared and, despite everything, there’s still that look of earnest concern in his eyes.

For a second Jared wants to deflect. Avoid the topic entirely, or at the very least be a complete _dick_ about it because Connor’s definitely not here to overhear him this time. _I don’t know, you saw him just get up and walk out of class just now like it was nothing, the guy’s clearly batshit out of his mind._

But he feels like he can’t do that. Not anymore.

“I was an asshole to him, too,” Jared says at last. And Jesus Christ, tears are prickling at the back of his eyes again and he is _not_ going to start crying. Not here, not now. Like, even if he’s trying to cultivate this new, nicer, not totally emotionally repressed Jared Kleinman, he’s not sure he’s ready for the New Him to make his debut in a packed classroom halfway through first period.

“Is that what you meant, on Friday, when you said you’d had a stressful week?”

Jared just nods.

“I’m sorry,” Evan says, in a near-whisper.

“Jesus, no, why are _you_ apologizing? We’ve literally just established that I am, indisputably, the asshole in this situation.”

“Because I just, I kept going on about Zoe, even when you, you clearly didn’t want to hear it and I can’t imagine how much, it must have really sucked when you’d had a fight with Connor and, here I am, talking to his sister.” Evan pauses for a split second. Jared can practically see the gears whirring in his brain. “I mean, I think, I think I’m phrasing this weirdly because I’m making it sound almost like _you_ have a crush on _Connor_ or something which is just, that’s totally ridiculous, and that’s not what I mean, I just meant, because they’re related and I was sort of getting on with Zoe and then you, with Connor, and - are you _alright_?”

“Yeah. No. _Shit_ ,” Jared blinks rapidly, both to ground himself and as an aggressive _don’t you fucking dare_ to his tear ducts. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, okay?”

So Jared puts his hand up, and surprisingly Mrs Talley lets him go even though they’re only like 20 minutes into the class, which may just be because she still feels bad for calling him out on having no friends in front of everyone but even so, he’ll take it. He just needs a few minutes to regroup, collect himself after that close shave with Evan. Take some deep breaths, splash some water in his face. Then he’ll be fine.

He’s been standing in the bathroom for a couple of minutes, scrunching up a just-in-case square of toilet paper in his fist and staring in the general direction of the mirror without actually taking in his reflection, when the door creaks open and Evan pokes his head in.

Which is definitely a surprise, considering Mrs Talley is infamously precious about bathroom permissions and Jared can’t really imagine her letting both halves of a pair go off to the bathroom at the same time, especially not when the prospective third person in their group already stormed off of his own accord in a blaze of profanity. And he also can’t really imagine Evan managing to pull off the kind of stunt that’s probably needed to get around that little obstacle. But he’s somehow here now, anyway.

“Can I come in?” Evan asks.

“It’s a public bathroom, dude, I don’t think anyone’s gonna stop you.”

Evan nods apologetically and steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The sudden muffling of every sound from the hallways and classrooms beyond the bathroom feels somehow more pronounced now that Jared isn’t alone. And it’s not helped by how Evan is looking at him like he so desperately wants to say something, standing there rolling his right ankle over and over again as he worries at the hem of his shirt with one hand. Then he closes his eyes, inhales.

“You have a crush on Connor,” he says at last, his voice soft, reasoned, surprisingly calm.

Which is a total contrast to how Jared feels right about now.

He’s too stunned to immediately counter with some sort of ‘Dude, what the fuck, are you out of your freaking _mind_?!’ response, so he totally misses the boat when it comes to attempting denial, as evidenced by the look of sympathetic understanding that falls over Evan’s face.

So instead, he just nods, his mouth agape.

“How did you know?” he says hoarsely.

“I guess it was just. None of it seemed obvious at the time, I promise, I just, you getting upset when I talked about Zoe, and you leaving when I said it sounded like you, like you did have a crush on him, and also that time he talked to you before school, I guess you seemed really happy afterwards? I don’t know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just-”

“It’s fine,” Jared says, even though his ears are ringing and he feels a little bit unsteady on his feet right now.

“And just so you know,” Evan’s speech has accelerated into nervous rambling. “I really don’t mind that you, you’re, that you like guys, it’s really not, I mean I think I’m maybe, that I’m not really straight either so, um, it really doesn’t bother me, I shouldn’t have said that I’m sorry you’re the only person who even _knows_ that now and-”

“Dude. You’re all good.” Jared shrugs. “I only told my dad over the weekend, so. I get it.”

“Anyway,” Evan continues after a moment of respectful silence, speaking ever so slightly slower now. “I don’t want to make this about me, I really just wanted to, to say sorry for assuming that you didn’t like Connor in that way, or whatever, and also I just, I wanted to make sure you’re okay? I’m just, I’m really sorry that. That Connor. That he - that you’re fighting.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Jared says with a shrug, and he even smiles for good measure, but something about his delivery is clearly unconvincing because Evan tentatively steps forward, letting his hands hover awkwardly above Jared’s forearms for a couple of seconds in a totally weird but extraordinarily _Evan_ gesture of _I’d totally hug you right now but I have no idea how to initiate physical contact with another human being_.

So Jared decides to cut out the awkwardness, and pulls Evan into a hug himself.

He figures they both need it right now.

* * *

The next couple of days are a little easier now that Jared and Evan are talking again. Evan’s still a little more nervous around him than usual, like he’s scared he’ll say the wrong thing and Jared will rip into him again, but it’s better than nothing. Which is what he’s getting from Connor. Connor doesn’t even show up to Chemistry on Monday, and Jared wonders if he just walked out of school completely after the English debacle but he decides to ask Alana, Connor’s lab partner, if she’s seen him and she gives this whole unnecessary spiel about where exactly her schedule coincides with Connor’s that seems to boil down to yes, she sat two rows across from him in French in third period. Connor does at least turn up to the classes they share on Tuesday and Wednesday, although he makes a big deal of looking in the other direction whenever Jared tries to make eye contact with him, and when Jared tries to get his attention as they’re both leaving English on Wednesday Connor just brushes past him as if he didn’t even hear anything.

On Thursday, Jared and Evan are chatting by Jared’s locker before school - like, actually, casually chatting about nothing in particular, like they’re really friends again now - when Zoe Murphy comes up to them. Evan immediately turns the color of a freaking beetroot, sputtering out something that’s probably _meant_ to be “Hi, Zoe” but comes out more like some sort of anxious squawk, and Jared tries not to feel bitter about the fact that he’s going to have to watch Evan, however awkwardly, get to flirt with his Murphy sibling of choice in the midst of all this Connor drama.

And then Zoe, after a brief wave in Evan’s direction, says, “Hi, Jared.”

Jared feels almost as surprised as Evan _looks_.

“My brother wants to talk to you,” Zoe continues, an almost undetectable cautious tremor hiding under her slightly curt delivery. “He said to meet him in the hallway by the art rooms. He won’t say what it’s about but he said it was urgent.”

Well, _shit_.

Jared doesn’t stick around to watch as Zoe moves on to talking to Evan, which would normally be the sort of interaction he’d _love_ to observe so he could affectionately rip Evan to shreds for it later. Instead he gives Zoe a weird little thumbs up, waves to Evan, and dashes off.

The art rooms are all located down a narrow, shadowy little back hall, not dissimilar to the one where Jared and Connor had their fight last week, where nobody really goes unless they have class there. It’s exactly the kind of place Jared can envision Connor hiding out. And sure enough, he’s sitting on a windowsill halfway down the hall, one leg tucked up so his chin is resting on his knee, the other dangling down towards the floor, bouncing furiously with what Jared can only assume is nerves.

“Hey, Connor,” Jared says, approaching Connor with a level of caution akin to someone approaching an aggressive, mistreated dog on one of those animal rescue shows he used to watch when he was younger.

Connor responds by lowering himself down off the windowsill. He doesn’t look at Jared, instead choosing to busy himself with gnawing at one of the rings on his left hand. His right hand, hanging by his side, is shaking.

The silence seems to stretch on forever. Jared briefly wonders if this is the right time for him to leap in with an apology, but also it was _Connor_ who initiated this whole meeting and who clearly has something to say, and he can’t help but feel like interrupting him isn’t going to go down well.

Finally, Connor stops biting at his hand for long enough to actually speak.

“I still need you to tutor me.”

Jared’s heart folds itself inside out.

“Oh, no, cool, that’s no problem-” he begins, but Connor holds out one hand to stop him.

“Just today. After school. Two hours. Then you can stay away from me. It’s just.” Jared can’t help but recognise the way Connor sharply cuts himself off all of a sudden, how his voice suddenly wobbles precariously like a tightrope walker over a raging waterfall. He heard that exact same intonation coming from himself last week.

When Connor continues speaking, his voice is, at first, carefully measured, deliberately flat. But he can’t keep up the act for more than a few words. “I have a test tomorrow. A really important one. And. I’ve tried studying for it by myself, but I’m _going_ to fail, and I _can’t_ fail, not this one, not now-”

“Hey, no, it’s all good,” Jared blurts out, desperate to stop Connor in his tracks before the poor guy works himself into a fucking frenzy. “It’s fine. You can come over today.” He pauses as Connor nods to himself, clearly making a conscious effort to stop hyperventilating. “By the way, I really am-”

“Save it.” For a brief moment Connor looks angry again, but that flickers away quickly, replaced by an expression that’s really more _exhausted_ than anything else. “Just. Save the fucking apologies. Let me come for tutoring today. Then that’s it, we can leave each other alone.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever you want,” Jared says, and to his credit, he manages to sound relatively calm about the whole thing. “I’ll see you after school.”

Connor stares at him for a moment later, his eyes cold, and then, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, he turns around and walks away.

* * *

When Jared gets to the bench in the parking lot after school, Connor is already waiting there. He doesn’t say a single word when Jared comes up to him - as a matter of fact, he barely even acknowledges his presence until Jared actually asks if he’s ready to go, and even then he just sighs loudly and gets up.

In fact, Connor doesn’t say a word to Jared until they’re both in Jared’s bedroom, Jared sitting stiffly in his desk chair, Connor hovering by the doorway looking like he’d rather be standing in a medieval torture chamber.

“Just do me one favor, okay?” he says, sounding like he’s practically having to claw the words out of his own throat. “Just. Don’t tell anyone you’re doing this. Everyone thinks I’m an idiot already, without you-”

“Hey, of course,” Jared says. “I wouldn’t _do_ that. Trust me, I literally didn’t even tell Evan Hansen I was tutoring you, and he’s, like, my best friend, so-”

“Right. You didn’t tell him because you were _embarrassed_ , though, isn’t that right?”

Jared feels like he’s got fucking whiplash.

“ _What_?”

“You heard me. You’re too embarrassed to tell anyone you’re tutoring me, unless, _unless_ it gives you a chance to-”

“Oh my God, this is _exactly_ the problem!” Jared can’t stop himself raising his voice. He’d really promised himself he was going to be all nice and patient with Connor today, try and get himself back into his good books, but he cannot fucking _deal_ with this illogical nonsense. “You are just _determined_ to turn everything into a personal attack, regardless of whether it makes any fucking sense. That’s the whole reason you just didn’t show up to tutoring for like, an entire week, and now we’re having to pull _this_ shit and-”

“I don’t think me overhearing you saying you didn’t want to be friends with me is anything to do with me misinterpreting _shit_!” Connor shouts. Then he turns around, his bag swinging behind him in an - admittedly impressive - dramatic flourish. “Fuck this. I’ll just take the fucking fail.”

“Hey, no, wait!” Jared blurts out, effectively throwing all dignity out of the window. By the time he gets out of his room and down the stairs Connor’s already at the front door, tugging on the handle. “The door’s locked, by the way, so you yanking at it like that isn’t going to do shit.”

Connor lets go of the door handle, suddenly hiding his face in his hands and honest to God stomping his foot in frustration like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

“Look,” Jared says, and he tries to sound as calm as possible because, frankly, he’s not prepared for the financial consequences of Connor suddenly kicking off and storming around the house looking for a printer to chuck around, or whatever. “I’m not going to let you fail this test just because I was an asshole to you.”

This, at least, gets Connor to lower his hands, staring cautiously in Jared’s direction like he thinks he’s about to be coaxed into a trap.

“What?” The word comes out barely any louder than the shaky exhale that accompanies it.

Jared sighs, trying very hard to collect himself. “I know I was a dick. Like, just now, _and_ last week. And I really am sorry, and I swear I can explain, if you want me to. But if you don’t want to hear me out, or forgive me, or whatever, then that’s your prerogative, right? That’s totally fair. So you shouldn’t have to fail because of that. We don’t have to be friends, or whatever. Like you said, we literally never have to talk to each other again after today, if that’s what you want. But at least let me help you right now.”

The ensuing silence feels like it could swallow up the whole house. Connor is totally still, eyes fixed on the floor, expression completely unreadable. It’s almost impossible to say whether he stays like that for five seconds or thirty.

Then, finally, he nods.

“Fine.” Another pause. “Don’t get it twisted, though. I wouldn’t stay unless I was desperate.”

Jared still sort of feels like he’s been plunged headfirst into a bucket of cold water. But he’ll take this as progress.

He heads back upstairs, Connor reluctantly trailing behind, and they sit down at Jared’s desk as Connor pulls a crumpled workbook out of his bag.

“Mrs Walker gave us these practice tests to try as homework,” he mumbles, self-consciously smoothing over the front cover with one hand. “I’ve tried a few of them. But.” He shrugs, handing the booklet over.

Jared tries very hard to keep his face neutral as he flips through, even as it becomes increasingly obvious that several of the problems here are _not_ going to be fixed within two hours.

“Well,” he starts, offering Connor what he _hopes_ is a breezy smile but probably comes out closer to an overly toothy grimace. “Loads of this is shit we’ve already worked on, right? And you were really great at it when we worked on it together, you just need to work out how to memorize, like, the principles and stuff. But we can start with this other stuff, the stuff that you… that’s kind of shakier. Get that out of the way first. Does that sound good?”

Connor offers a quiet grunt in the affirmative.

It turns out that starting with the material they hadn’t covered before was a good shout, because Connor is, to put it bluntly, absolutely fucking hopeless at it. It takes Jared at least an hour to figure out how to even explain the basic concepts in a way Connor can get his head around, and that’s before they get onto the regular quasi-traumatic ordeal of trying out the practice questions. By the time 6 o’clock rolls around, Connor’s maybe gotten to the point where he’s answering the questions with about 50% accuracy, but that’s at the total expense of anything else that could possibly come up on this test.

Even so, that doesn’t stop Connor from glancing up at the clock on Jared’s wall and immediately starting to hastily stuff all his shit back in his bag.

“Hey,” Jared absolutely knows better, but he can’t stop himself from placing one hand on Connor’s arm as it scrambles across the desk. It’s not meant to _mean_ anything, it’s literally just to stop him in his tracks, but it still stings a little when Connor immediately snatches his arm away as if it’s been burnt. “Look, obviously I don’t know if you have to, like, get home, or whatever. But I don’t have any plans for the rest of the evening. So if you want to stay a bit longer, just so we can look at this other shit, then that’s totally cool with me.”

Connor looks utterly perplexed. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Are you down for that?”

“Yeah.” Well. Jared _thinks_ Connor says “yeah”, considering it’s accompanied by the tiniest nod of the head and him beginning to get his stuff back out again, but it comes out so quiet that that’s really all just conjecture.

“Great!” Jared tries very hard not to sound _too_ disproportionately enthused. “Just give me two seconds, okay?”

He heads across and locks the door, and follows this up with a message to his family group text to say _I’m tutoring this evening, please don’t barge in and embarrass us. NOT a euphemism_ . _NO alarm necessary_.

His mom messages back almost immediately - _No worries sweetie!!!!! @Daniel - impromptu date night???!!!_ \- and Jared shoves his phone back into his pocket with a needlessly performative wince, praying his parents will at least have the decency to move any spousal sappiness to the DMs.

“Okay,” he says, flopping back into his seat. “We’re good to go.”

Connor eyes him suspiciously.

“I was texting my parents, don’t worry,” Jared continues. Connor still looks unconvinced. “Seriously, I can show you if you want. Nothing shady here.”

Which really sounds shady enough in itself that he wouldn’t blame Connor for getting up and walking out again, but instead he’s met with a silence that he happily takes as permission to keep going.

It ends up taking another four hours to cover all the material on the test, but by that point Connor’s looking considerably less stressed, even if he’s still really only talking to Jared in monosyllables unless absolutely necessary.

“Hey, we probably really should call it a night now,” Jared says once it gets to 10pm. “I mean, unless you really want to keep going.”

“No. That’s fine.”

Jared watches in silence as Connor packs up all his stuff again, only interrupting when he actually goes to leave.

“So. I know you normally walk home, but let me give you a ride just this once? I don’t really want your blood on my hands if you get murdered walking home alone at 10 o'clock at night.”

To his utter shock, Connor actually says yes. It’s probably just a result of the exhaustion from six straight hours of math, but Jared will happily take it as a win.

They drive in silence for several minutes, as Jared tries to ignore the way the warm glow of the streetlamps passes over Connor’s face in shifting shafts of light that make him look more serene than he’s ever really seen him before. Maybe it’s something about that, the artificial yellow lending a strange, incongruous softness to Connor’s stony features, his tangled hair, his all-black clothes, and how it suddenly reminds Jared just how hopelessly into Connor he is, that compels him to speak.

“Listen, I promise I didn’t, like, trap you in this car just so I could explain the shit with Adam and Maddie. But let me explain the thing with Adam and Maddie.”

Connor shuffles around in his seat so that he’s angled away from Jared.

Luckily - or maybe unluckily, for Connor - Jared’s never been too great at paying attention to cues that people want him to shut up.

“Adam and I used to be friends,” he begins, with a sigh that’s really more of a forced exhale to  preemptively calm his breathing. “We’re not anymore, so, like, you don’t have to worry about me feeding him intel, or whatever. He completely hates me now. And I know he… he’s an asshole to you. Like, all the time. And I guess he saw us talking before school that day and he confronted me about it and it really fucking sounded like some kind of threat. And, yeah, it was totally fucking cowardly of me but I thought if I admitted that we - well, at least that I thought of you as a friend - then he’d use that against me. So I said I didn’t want to be friends with you. And you weren’t meant to hear _any_ of it, I was just saying it to them to throw them off, so if they saw us talking again they wouldn’t give us crap. And obviously that’s not what happened, and I’m sorry you heard me saying all that shit about you. But for what it’s worth, it wasn’t true. None of it was. I wanted to be your friend. I still _do_. For real. But, yeah. I totally understand if you never want anything to do with me again.”

Connor doesn’t say anything, staring out the window with his face totally blank.

Then, a few seconds later, he pulls himself upright in his seat, fiddling with the seatbelt.

“You can let me out here,” he mutters.

 _Fuck_.

“Yeah. Yeah, shit, of course.” Jared pulls over as quickly as he can. Even though he knew Connor probably wasn’t going to accept any kind of apology from him he can _still_ feel that now all-too-familiar sensation of tears welling up, and he is _not_ going to let Connor Murphy see him cry. Not now. Not over this.

“It’s not, um.” Connor cocks his head to one side, a vague, awkward gesture in the direction of a cul-de-sac they were just about to pass. “Just. This is my street.”

Something about his tone is weirdly sheepish, almost _apologetic_.

“Oh.” Jared blinks, and the tears dissipate.

“Yeah.”

Connor gets out of the car, and pauses on the sidewalk to place his bag over his shoulder.

“Good luck tomorrow,” Jared calls out, taking advantage of the pause. “On the test. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Make sure you get some sleep though. Sleep’s meant to be like, really important for-”

Connor slams the passenger side door shut.


	5. Chapter 5

Friday comes and goes without major incident. Connor still isn’t _talking_ to Jared at school, but he doesn’t make quite as big a show out of avoiding eye contact with him whenever they’re in the same room. In fact, when Jared has to edge past Connor’s bench in the chemistry lab to grab a flask, Connor eyes him steadily for several seconds, and the feeling that he’s being watched doesn’t quite disappear when he’s back at his own bench talking to Maddie. Jared starts to get anxious during 7th period, when Connor has his math test, but nobody’s phone starts blowing up with news that Connor’s, like, had an actual mental breakdown in the middle of class or anything, so maybe that last-minute tutoring session managed to prevent an actual, full-scale disaster after all.

The weekend also passes, and so does most of Monday, and Jared still doesn’t hear any worrying gossip about Connor, and his parents are still being a little bit _too_ nice to him, and Evan’s still talking to him with a little more caution than usual, and it starts to feel like his life is maybe settling into a new routine. Like this is normal, now. Like the past few weeks were some sort of weird blip, like Connor’s slipped out of his life as quickly as he arrived and the only things he has to show for it are an even nervier best friend and a dad who googles “gay ally dad merchandise” on his iPad in the living room when he thinks Jared isn’t watching.

Then, on Monday, as he’s packing up his shit after his final period Spanish class, Evan taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, um, I missed the answer to number 7?” he says, weakly flapping the vocab test they were just doing in Jared’s direction. “I don’t know if you, um. Could I just see yours?”

Jared rolls his eyes. This isn’t totally unusual for Evan, who seems to _love_ going off into a daydream and missing important information during class, but at least he usually has the decency to ask Jared to bring him up to speed when he hasn’t just shoved all his books from that class into the bottom of his backpack.

Mildly irritated as he is, though, he still digs out his test and hands it to Evan, who bends over his desk and dutifully copies down the answer, his tongue poking out ever so slightly. By the time he’s done (he appears to be on a weird perfectionistic spiral, because it takes him a _long_ time to write this one single Spanish word out as neatly as possible), they’re the only two people left in the room.

“Okay, that’s really awesome, thank you, Jared,” Evan says at last, passing the paper back over.

“Yeah, no sweat.”

Then, in what is definitely Evan’s weirdest action of the afternoon, and quite possibly of the month, he throws his backpack over one shoulder and darts out of the room at the speed of light, only pausing at the doorway to offer Jared an utterly bizarre grin and waggly-fingered wave.

Jared is tempted to linger for a second longer so he can try and figure out what the crap just happened, but he’s interrupted by Mrs Linares clearing her throat abruptly in a totally unsubtle “The school day ended three minutes ago, _please_ get the fuck out of my classroom” gesture. Jared shoots an apologetic little grimace in her direction and makes his way out of the room.

The second he emerges into the hallway, he starts to wonder if he's actually going crazy.

Connor is there, leaning back against the wall opposite the doorway, arms folded and shoulders hunched so tightly he’s practically curling into himself like a freaking roly poly. As soon as he catches sight of Jared, he straightens up a little, just barely mouthing “Hey” in his direction.

“Hey,” Jared responds. He hopes he doesn’t sound _too_ confused. “What’s up?”

“I just thought you should know, um.” Connor presses his lips together for a moment. “I passed that test.”

“Holy _shit_ !” Jared exclaims, and before he can fully consciously register what he’s doing he’s standing there, arms outstretched, ready to pull Connor into a hug. Connor just looks back at him in abject horror, and Jared clears his throat before adjusting his pose into an _exceptionally_ pathetic double fist pump. “That’s great! I knew you could do it.”

There’s a very long pause.

“Well,” Jared says, at last, actually daring to offer a smile in Connor’s direction even though he knows it’s going to look totally disingenuous. “I guess you won’t need me to tutor you anymore.”

“Actually, um.” Connor fiddles with the cuff of his hoodie. “That’s also why I wanted to talk to you.”

Well, Jared knew this was coming, but he feels a horrible, hollow pit forming in his chest anyway.

“Oh?” he says, trying to sound appropriately casual.

“I mean.” Connor has managed to pull a thread loose on his cuff, and is now twisting it round one finger. “I passed that test, but I didn’t really do _well_. And also.”

He unravels the thread again, instead crossing both arms protectively over his chest. Whatever he’s about to say, it looks like he’s _this_ close to having to physically pry the words out of his throat.

“I was thinking, over the weekend. About... everything. I actually sort of wanted to text you. But… I don’t know.” Connor stares at the floor, scuffing the carpet with the toe of one battered combat boot. “You didn’t have to do that, last week. When you, um. You let me stay, way longer than I was meant to, and you helped me study, even though I almost walked out and I’d… I’d freaked out at you, and all that shit. But the whole fucking time, you were _so_ -”

He cuts himself off suddenly, clamping one hand over his mouth. When he finally speaks again, it’s at barely more than a whisper.

“You were actually _nice_ to me. And you didn’t have to be. You didn’t have to do _any_ of that.” Connor shakes his head. “And I still don’t really get why you _did_ , but - thank you.”

“Yeah. No, of course.”

“So I _want_ you to keep tutoring me,” Connor blurts out all of a sudden, like he had to force the words out in order to say them at all. Like ripping off a bandaid. Then, just as hastily, he adds, “I mean. Obviously, you don’t, uh, you don’t have to. But. Yeah.”

“Dude,” Jared says, a little too breathlessly. “It’s all good. My pleasure.”

And, for the first time in almost two weeks, there it is. The corners of Connor’s mouth upturn shakily, like he’s not really used to the action. And he smiles at Jared.

“Thanks.” Another flicker of a smile. “I should go. I have to get home, but. See you tomorrow?”

“Totally. See you tomorrow.”

It takes Jared considerable effort not to do a fucking heel click as he heads off down the hall.

* * *

 The next day, Jared is heading to the cafeteria for lunch when Evan comes running up behind him.

“Hey,” he says, sort of breathlessly. “I was going to ask you in English but I thought it could have been, I don’t know, a bit awkward?”

“...Right?” Jared says, slowing to a halt and ushering Evan off to one side so he isn’t literally standing in the middle of the school’s main freaking thoroughfare.

“Yeah, um, I just wanted to ask if, if you, um.” Jared doesn’t need to be able to see Evan’s feet to guess that he’s probably in the process of systematically dislocating his own ankle. “How was your, did you have a good talk with Connor yesterday?”

“Wait, _what_? How did you-”

“Well, um, I, obviously I just, I saw Connor standing outside and, I assumed, I don’t know _why_ I thought this because you weren’t even really _talking_ to each other so, so maybe it was just a lucky, a lucky guess but I guess I just assumed that _maybe_ he was going to talk to you.” Evan’s babbling like crazy, rolling his ankle over and over so fast that he’s physically bobbing up and down.

Jared can practically see the fucking conspiracy theory pins-and-string board forming in his own brain.

“Evan,” he begins, with a deeply ironic accusatory tone, like he’s questioning a little kid who just got caught drawing on the walls. “Did you deliberately delay me after Spanish yesterday just so I could talk to Connor?”

The absolutely flabbergasted splutter that Evan lets out is a perfectly satisfactory “yes” in itself, but that doesn’t stop him from going, “No? Why would I, um, why would Connor even _talk_ to me, because obviously he’d have to talk to me for me to know he wanted to talk to you, and he _didn’t_ , so I don’t know why you’d think that because it definitely didn’t happen and-”

“ _Evan_ ,” Jared says again, really starting to feel like a fucking kindergarten teacher.

“ _Okay okay yes I did it on purpose_!” Evan suddenly yells, so loud that his voice cracks and several people turn around to see where that ungodly shout-squeak hybrid came from. He instantly shuts his mouth with such force that Jared’s surprised he doesn’t hear the guy’s teeth rattling.

After a few slightly exaggerated deep breaths, Evan continues at a normal human speaking volume. “He, um, we have US History together, me and Connor? In second period? And after class when I was leaving he, um, he sits at the front so I had to walk past him and he said, well, obviously he said my name to get my attention. And I turned around and he asked what your last class was, so, so I told him and he asked what room so I told him that as well, and, and he didn’t _say_ that he needed to talk to you but I assumed that he probably did, so.”

Evan stops for a second, clearly waiting for a reaction.

“Actually, though,” he punctuates this sentence with a little shoulder-shimmy. “The delaying you after class was my idea. Not to brag. But I assumed it might take Connor a few minutes to get to you because I didn’t, I wasn’t sure what _his_ last class was and I didn’t think, well, I thought it would have been weird to ask. And it seemed like he really wanted to talk to you, so. So I thought it would be really sad if you just walked off and you missed each other, or something. So I, uh, that’s when I had the idea to stall for time. I guess.”

He offers Jared a stiff, cheesy little grin, as if to say 'Ta-da! My borderline incomprehensible spiel is complete!'

Jared can’t help but burst out laughing.

He’s cackling so hard that he’s throwing his head back with his eyes shut, but he can actually physically sense the look of panic and dismay on Evan’s face when he adds, “I’m sorry, did I, did I do something _wrong_?”

“ _No_ , Jesus Christ,” Jared positively guffaws, and he realizes that this is probably the hardest he’s laughed in like, all of the past two weeks. “No, you’re just. You are _such_ a freaking idiot, you know that, right?”

“What?” Evan sounds like he’s about to cry, and Jared, in his hysterics, decides the best way to rectify that is to slap him (harder than intended) on the arm. “ _Ow_!”

“God, crap, no, I didn’t mean that.” Jared manages to stop laughing for maybe two seconds, but when he opens his eyes Evan’s offended pout in his direction very nearly sets him off again. “No. You’re a _very_ good friend, Evan, and thank you for helping. But next time you decide to engage in some epic Connor Murphy friendship engineering can you at _least_ tell the truth about it? Because no offense, bro, but you’re an awful fucking liar.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jared says, delivering a slightly less forceful punch to Evan’s other arm. “I think Connor might _actually_ want to talk to me again. I’m tutoring him today after school. So, clumsily executed or not, your stunt actually paid off.”

“Oh! That’s good!” Evan looks genuinely surprised - and pleased - with himself.

“Now come _on_ , or those freshmen who are probably furries are gonna steal our lunch table again.”

After school (the freshman furries did steal Jared’s regular lunch table, and he and Evan had to squeeze up at one end while they shouted absolute nonsense at each other at a medically unhealthy volume, and Jared could happily go the rest of his life without hearing another human being say the words “smol bean”), Jared heads to the bench in the parking lot where he always meets Connor for tutoring. Connor’s already there, sitting cross-legged on the bench, totally engrossed in a book.

Jared’s pretty sure his brain has always stored the subconscious knowledge that Connor likes reading - they’ve been in the same English class for two out of the past three years, and he has some vague recollection of Connor sheepishly mentioning over the course of their regularly scheduled awkward 'how was your day' small talk that he’s doing an extra English-related elective this semester on top of the actual compulsory class - but actually seeing him folded almost horizontally over this book, staring intently at the page, his dumb noughties revival emo bangs tucked back behind one ear so they don’t fall into his eyes, is the kind of sight that threatens to actually destroy his poor fragile gay heart.

“Hey,” he says, and something about the surprisingly pleasant interactions of the past 24 hours emboldens him to slide onto the bench next to Connor. “What’cha reading?”

Connor visibly startles, slamming the book shut and shoving it into his bag before Jared can even get a glimpse of the cover.

“Nothing,” he says, hastily re-adjusting his hair into its regular bird’s-nest-like state. “Something for class.”

“Well, it looked interesting,” Jared tries.

Connor just shrugs. Jared decides against any more attempts at conversation until they’re both in the car.

“So. Did you have a good day?”

Connor shrugs again.

Jesus Christ. Jared had anticipated that they wouldn’t exactly snap back to the exact stage of weird almost-friendship they’d just about reached by the time he went and fucked shit up, but it sure would be nice if Connor could give him _something_ to work with.

“My day was pretty good,” Jared says, as if he’s actually responding to a question. Still no reply. Shit. “It’s my cat’s birthday today.”

Oh God, being friends with Evan again is starting to rub off on him already.

It is most definitely _not_ Spaghetti’s birthday. Spaghetti’s birthday is in May, a little over nine weeks before Jared’s own, because she was a birthday present back when she was an innocent unsuspecting kitten who didn’t know she’d later be burdened with a ridiculous name or the emotional trauma of being used as a prop in her owner’s hopeless attempts at communicating with his infamously moody crush.

But Connor doesn’t need to know that. Especially not when he actually raises his eyebrows and responds with a soft “Oh, that’s nice.”

Not wanting to totally get caught in a snowball of a lie, Jared attempts a few other conversation topics - “Wasn’t that assembly this morning the cringiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen?”, “Do you know what you’re doing for your English presentation?”, “It’s kinda warm for February, isn’t it?” - but none of them really gain much traction.

When they get inside the house, Jared begins his usual routine of asking Connor if he wants anything to drink, or a snack because his mom tried and failed to bake cupcakes over the weekend and they have to eat them or she’ll get upset even if she insists she’s totally over the fact that they came out kind of rubbery and lopsided. He’s rudely interrupted by Spaghetti bounding across the living room and coming to sniff at Connor’s ankles.

“Happy birthday,” Connor says, very earnestly.

If Spaghetti knows enough English to know that someone has been spouting absolute bullshit about the major biographical details of her life, she at least has the decency not to let on, and instead happily allows Connor to crouch down and start scratching her chin.

Jared busies himself with pouring two glasses of water so he doesn’t have to watch the whole sickeningly adorable display.

As always when it comes to his Spaghetti interactions, after a minute Connor suddenly remembers he’s in the presence of human company and stands back up, mumbling something about how he and Jared should maybe go upstairs. He doesn’t need to tell Jared twice.

Surprisingly, Connor doesn’t pull his usual routine of loitering in the doorway until Jared gives him his express permission to sit down, but immediately makes his way over to his usual armchair.

“So,” Jared begins, with an awkward little grin that’s an attempt at saying ‘let’s pretend you didn’t totally despise me, like, five days ago’. “What are we doing today?”

“We just started this new topic,” Connor says. Then he actually offers a little sardonic eye roll. “Surprise, surprise, I don’t fucking get it.”

“No problemo,” Jared says, a little too enthusiastically, and instantly wishes it was socially acceptable to slap himself round the face and hiss _Dude! What the fuck?!_

Connor’s eyes widen as he shoots an almost comically judgemental aside glance off in the direction of the door.

“Can you just show me how trig formulas work?” he says, sounding positively exasperated.

“Yup. Sure.” Jared actually almost has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying _No problemo_ again.

The next two hours pass, totally unremarkable. Connor at least no longer seems actively pissed at Jared, but he’s still not quite comfortable around him, responding with mild confusion rather than outright annoyance when Jared tries to crack jokes to lighten the mood. He struggles with the work, but slowly starts to get to grips with it during the last half hour. Jared’s phone buzzes, and he ignores it so he can answer one of Connor’s frequent exclamations of “Hey, wait, what the _fuck_? What the fuck is going on?”

Then 6 o’clock comes, and Connor’s just heading down the stairs to leave when the front door opens.

Jared, hovering in his bedroom doorway, almost passes out.

“Heya, Jared!” his dad calls. “Did you get my text, I know I’m home early but hopefully it’s not getting in the way of your - oh! You must be Connor, right?”

It’s as if the fucking _Metal Gear Solid_ alert sound goes off in Jared’s head, and he sprints down to the living room, edging his way past Connor, to intercept his dad.

“Hey, Dad,” he says through gritted teeth, drawing out the “hey” for way longer than necessary. “Yeah, Connor was _just_ leaving.”

“Have you two been hard at work?” his dad continues, resolutely not getting the hint.

Jared glares at his dad as Connor, clearly absolutely horrified at being put on the spot, falters.

“I guess,” he says eventually.

“Awesome! What have you been working on?"

“Trig formulas,” Jared and Connor say, in total unison but in distinctly different tones of voice.

“ _Very_ cool,” Jared’s dad continues, with the unbounded enthusiasm of someone who genuinely thinks that trig formulas are very cool. “You know, Connor, you’re very welcome to stay for dinner any time. There’s really no need to dash off. We’d all love to get to know you better, Jared’s had _nothing_ but good things to say about you-”

“Connor doesn’t want to stay for dinner, Dad,” Jared hisses, wondering in what world “I have a crush on him and he hates me”, sobbed out incoherently in the middle of a complete meltdown, counts as having nothing but good things to say about someone. “ _Do_ you, Connor?”

Connor is fixated on his rings again.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbles, practically inaudible.

Wow. Jared wasn’t expecting Connor Murphy to be the kind of guy to bow to the pressures of being painfully, awkwardly polite to an acquaintance’s dad.

“Awesome! Well, you can stay any day you like, just let us know a day or so in advance so we’ve got enough food for you. Do you need a ride home? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

“It’s okay. I’ll walk,” Connor says, and Jared can’t help but roll his eyes a little because he now knows that Connor lives a thirty minute walk away at the _very_ least and he should totally stop being so stubborn.

Although, come to think of it, the idea of his dad getting to drive Connor home, with total liberty over potentially humiliating conversation topics, is absolutely terrifying.

“No worries. Well, I won’t keep you. I bet you’ve got to get home for your dinner. But it was really great to meet you, Connor, and, like I said, we’d love to have you over any time.”

Connor nods, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like “Thank you”, and flashes one of his signature half-smiles in Jared’s dad’s direction before darting across the living room and out of the door.

“Dad, _why_ ?!” Jared groans, as soon as the door shuts behind Connor. “Do you _have_ to be so _obvious_?”

“Hey, I didn’t think I was being obvious at all!” His dad throws his hands up defensively. “By the way, Connor seems like a lovely young man.”

“ _Dad_!”

“And it looks like you’re on speaking terms again! What better way to celebrate that than with a nice meal?”

“Oh my God, Dad!” Jared throws himself down on the nearest sofa with a little more dramatic panache than strictly necessary. “We’re, like, _barely_ talking again, let alone good enough friends that you can just ask him to dinner. Look, now I’m going to have to text him and apologize for you being such a _weirdo_.”

His dad just shakes his head and sighs affectionately as Jared pulls up his phone. He knows that Connor definitely has his phone back at this point, because they texted - very briefly - that morning to confirm where to meet for tutoring.

_Hey, sorry about my dad, he’s literally always that embarrassing. You do NOT have to accept his dinner invitation just to be polite_

Then he realizes that might seem like he’s trying to stop Connor from staying for dinner entirely, which totally won’t go down well.

_Unless you want to obvs_

Okay. _That_ sounds too much like he’s hinting at Connor to accept the invitation after all. Shit, how does Evan cope with overthinking everything like this all the freaking time? It’s positively exhausting.

_Totally up to you_

Then Jared throws his phone down, letting out a quiet moan of frustration when it bounces off the sofa cushions and onto the floor.

His dad just gets up, still shaking his head fondly, and wanders upstairs.

Jared thinks he hears him mutter something about “young love”.

* * *

Connor doesn’t reply to Jared’s text that night, and the next morning, before English, Jared decides to take matters into his own hands.

“Hey,” he says, planting himself in the empty chair next to Connor’s desk. Connor looks slightly alarmed to see him there. “Look, I really am sorry about my dad yesterday. I swear he was, like, raised by monkeys or something because he has _no_ concept of appropriate, non-embarrassing human interaction-”

“It’s fine,” Connor interrupts. He’s not looking at Jared, instead totally focused on the book in his hands. “He seems nice.”

“Oh - well. I _guess_ ,” Jared says. “But, like, you don’t have to say that just to be polite, or whatever. I’m not gonna, like, socially excommunicate you for admitting that my dad’s-”

“God, can’t you just be grateful that he’s not an asshole?” Connor snaps. For a second it seems like he’s about to say something else, but he stops himself short. Even though he doesn’t move, remaining fixated on his book, it’s like Jared can see a second, internal Connor shrivelling up in regret all of a sudden.

“Sorry,” Jared says. “I was just sort of worried that he’d been way too friendly, or whatever. Considering, you know, we weren’t exactly talking this time last week.”

“Well, it’s fine.” Connor bites his lip. “Seriously. I didn’t mind.”

“Oh.” Jared breathes a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s great.” Now or never. “In that case, I guess if you do ever want to stay over for dinner-”

Connor finally looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed in a small, confused frown, like he’s trying hard to figure out whether or not Jared is serious.

Before Jared gets a chance to reassure him, Mrs Talley enters the room, clapping her hands with way too much vigor for how early it is and telling everyone to get into their assigned seats.

Jared offers Connor an apologetic grin and moves away.

Today, Jared and Evan at least manage to beat the freshman furries to their regular lunch table, which is a small blessing in a day that’s shaping up to be, if not outright _bad_ , a little weird. Evan is surprisingly sympathetic when Jared recounts how he totally shoved his own foot in his mouth during that earlier conversation with Connor, because apparently _Zoe_ was acting weird in their pottery class today. Evan goes on to mention that Sabrina Patel, who sits next to him, saw that he was looking downcast after a not-bad-but-a-little-weird conversation with Zoe and said something about Mercury maybe being in retrograde and that’s why she was acting strange, and he’s not entirely sure what that means and anyway he looked it up and he doesn’t think Mercury is even _in_ retrograde right now, if that’s even relevant, and besides-

“Hey.” Jared waves a hand in Evan’s face to shut him up. “Hold up a second.”

After a brief moment of sitting there with his mouth hanging open like a particularly stressed goldfish, Evan turns his head ever so slightly to follow where Jared is now looking.

Connor has just walked into the cafeteria.

This shouldn’t really be a weird thing, considering Jared knows they share the same lunch period and, generally speaking, people who share his lunch period should probably be in the cafeteria right about now. But he’s never actually seen Connor here before. Which makes sense, considering Connor is probably on par with Evan in terms of being the literal most socially anxious person Jared knows and there are several other people in the cafeteria right now who view making Connor’s life miserable as some sort of fun challenge, so it’s totally unsurprising that he probably, like, eats his lunch sitting in a bathroom stall or hiding out in another creepy back hall that fits his ostensibly-not-even-trying-but-probably-carefully-curated goth aesthetic. The way he walks into the room now, head bowed a little so he can hide behind his bangs, both hands clinging onto his bag so tight that, even from a distance, Jared can almost see his knuckles turning white, it pretty much looks like he’s been forced at gunpoint to come here.

“Stop _staring_ , Evan, Jesus Christ,” Jared hisses. And just in time, too, because suddenly Connor’s looking in their direction.

Jared doesn’t even consciously think about it, but just as suddenly he’s waving his hand in the air, beckoning Connor over, despite the fact that he’s probably still pissed about whatever the fuck that was before English earlier.

Connor stares back at him like he can’t quite believe his eyes. Or maybe like he’s genuinely appalled at Jared still having the audacity to act like they’re best buddies after accidentally offending him yet again. Either one works.

But then, after a moment of hesitation, he actually walks over, eyes still darting around the cafeteria like he’s expecting to be ambushed at any second. Only when he’s literally standing over Jared and Evan’s table does Jared actually attempt to say “Hey, do you wanna sit with us?”

At exactly the same time, Connor, in an awkward mumble that gives the impression that even asking is totally mortifying to him, says, “Can I sit here?”

Then, simultaneously, Jared says, “Of course, dude, any time,” and Connor says “Oh, uh, thanks,” and Evan makes some sort of enthusiastic but vaguely strangled-sounding squeaking noise that probably translates to 'You can totally sit here, but please don’t expect me to contribute to the conversation as I’m currently figuring out how to be in close proximity to my crush’s brother who also happens to be Jared’s crush without saying something that will get me punched in the face by at least one of the people present.'

After taking a few seconds to, apparently, mentally fish out any pertinent information from that explosion of awkward conversational threads, Connor squeezes through the gap between the table and the wall and sits down next to Jared, who tries not to think too hard about why Connor is putting in extra effort just to avoid having his back to people.

“Hey,” Jared says as soon as Connor is settled, like they haven’t just been attempting to talk to each other. “You know Evan, right?”

Connor nods, and Evan shoots a look of pure betrayed terror in Jared’s direction that strongly implies he still hasn’t thought of an appropriate conversation topic beyond 'Hey, Connor, I want to make out with your sister' or 'Hey, Connor, my friend Jared here wants to make out with _you_.'

“How’s your day going?” Jared continues, although he realizes that this question is probably going to be even more of a non-starter than usual considering Connor’s literally only halfway through the day.

Predictably, Connor shrugs. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a tupperware container filled with what looks like the Frankenstein’s monster of Pinterest-inspired salads.

“That looks nice,” Jared tries.

Connor briefly looks at him as if to say ‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’, and then starts sifting through his salad with a plastic fork like he’s trying very hard to unearth something actually appetising.

Jared raises his eyebrows, offers a little grimace at nobody in particular, and redirects his attention to his own lunch.

“If you were a body of water, what body of water would you be?” Evan blurts out all of a sudden, like an old car suddenly sputtering into action at the crucial moment of a horror movie chase scene. But, like, an old car that starts working only to immediately go careering off a cliff.

“ _What_?” Jared and Connor say in unison. Connor follows up with a little cough, like he might have just inhaled some of his salad.

“Oh God I’m sorry,” Evan exclaims possibly even more aggressively. “Sorry, that was, that probably sounded really _weird_ , that was definitely weird just, my ther- my _mom_ told me all these conversation starters one time for when there’s, like, an awkward silence or something, but I think this just made it more awkward so maybe I should get a new… a new… a new set of conversation starters.”

Evan looks around for a second and clears his throat. “I think I’d maybe be a pond, by the way,” he mumbles, staring intently at his lunch tray like he wishes it would turn into some kind of portal to freedom from this hellish conversation.

And then Connor pipes up with, “A geyser? I don’t know, something like that, I guess.”

He pauses for a moment, like he’s either thinking hard about what he just said or he’s waiting for somebody else to comment on it. Then he goes back to picking at his lunch. He doesn’t _quite_ smile at Evan, but his eyes soften a little.

“Oh, that’s really, um, good answer!” Evan says, perking up considerably. Connor gives him a small mock salute with his fork. “What about you, Jared?”

Jared grins, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded smugly behind his head. “I’d be that water they found on Mars.”

“Yeah, makes sense, because you’re fucking weird,” Connor says with a little huff of laughter, at about the same time that Evan indignantly says something about “If you’re not going to take this _seriously_ , Jared,” but Jared is really _far_ too preoccupied with Connor to give the slightest hint of a shit about the sanctity of Evan’s silly icebreaker. He stares at Connor with an expression of mock outrage, hoping he doesn’t look too legitimately offended, and after a second Connor glances at him out of the corner of his eye and he actually. Fucking. Smirks.

Jared suddenly feels like he could actually, literally pass out.

“Also,” Evan says after a second or two of awkward silence, during which Jared was trying very hard to return his heartbeat to a normal rhythm. “Do you happen to know, Connor, is Mercury in retrograde?”

Connor looks utterly confounded.

“Did your… mom suggest that as a conversation starter as well?” he says, frowning. Evan shrugs helplessly. “And no, I don’t think it is.”

Which is great, because on top of the freaking _smirk_ Jared now has to grapple with the fact that Connor is, apparently, the kind of person who knows off the top of his head whether or not Mercury is in retrograde.

Thankfully, Evan manages not to say anything else absurd over the next ten minutes, which is roughly how long it takes Connor to finish his salad before packing up his dumb little tupperware container and dashing off like he might catch fire or something if he sits at this table for a second longer. Jared attempts to throw a little “See you in Chemistry!” after him, but it goes either unheard or outright ignored.

“Connor seems really nice,” Evan says, once Connor is comfortably out of the cafeteria.

“I guess,” Jared says, even though he’s far too emotionally exhausted to even consider a fucking play-by-play of the preceding conversation. “I mean, he sure put up with your bullshit with the patience of a freaking saint. Seriously, what the crap _was_ that?”

“I was trying to _help_!” Evan squeals defensively, although there’s a little playful glint in his eye.

“For real, bro,” Jared says, leaning across the table to smack Evan’s arm. “If you pull that shit again, the only body of water in the conversation will be the _bottle_ of water I spray in your face.”

“Well, it _worked_ , didn’t it? He kind of talked to us?” And then, completely at odds with his anxious, slightly desperate tone of voice, Evan raises his eyebrows at Jared, a little knowing glance that says with more eloquence than he could ever hope to achieve out loud, ‘I saw Connor smirk at you, and I also saw how you were totally consciously trying not to get a boner for the rest of the time he was with us.’

Jared groans and rests his head in his hands.

He can't help but feel like telling Evan about his thing for Connor might have been a terrible idea after all.


	6. Chapter 6

The next two weeks seem to follow the same general pattern as that lunchtime. A little bit weird, but not really _bad_ , per se. Maybe almost leaning towards good.

On Thursday, Jared decides to eschew his regular crappy and, arguably, overdone default pre-tutoring small talk questions with Connor in favour of sitting down on the bench next to him and asking, with a smirk of his own, “So, if you were a plant, what kind of plant would you be?”

Connor rolls his eyes, snapping his book shut. “You know, at least Evan’s capable of coming up with more interesting questions than just asking me how my day was twice a week for an entire month."

Jared throws his hands up defensively. “Hey! What am I _meant_ to say when I meet up with you at the end of the freaking day?”

Connor frowns for a second, then shrugs, shoving his book into his bag with enough force that it clearly evokes the emotional vibe of him semi-jokingly flipping Jared off even though it’s a different action entirely.

“Right, okay, I’m gonna call Evan after this tutoring session, and I’m gonna rack his brain for every last one of his dumb conversation starters, and you’re going to regret ever challenging my totally adequate small talk skills.” Jared nudges Connor with his elbow, and is pleasantly surprised when Connor only flinches away a tiny bit.

Five minutes later, when they’re sitting in the car in a silence that’s somewhere in limbo between awkward and companionable, Connor murmurs, “I think I’d be a cactus.”

It’s only the fear of Connor taking offense and literally throwing himself out of a moving car or something that stops Jared from responding with “Sounds about right.”

Over the weekend, Jared’s parents continue their trend of being just affectionate enough that it’s clearly part of some underlying scheme (the aim of which is, presumably, to make sure Jared doesn’t have another breakdown any time soon, which is really a goal that Jared is very much pursuing on his own without his parents scheduling yet another family movie night). His dad asks at least five times whether Connor’s planning on staying for dinner in the near future, and each time Jared insists that that’s _not_ going to happen because he and Connor aren’t even really _friends_ and it’s just plain weird to ask your tutoring acquaintance who hated you last week to stay over for a nice meet-the-parents meal.

Well, he’s pretty certain he and Connor aren’t really friends. It’s hard to keep track of where exactly they are on this dizzying game of social snakes and ladders they’ve been playing for the past few weeks when, every so often, Connor does something that feels like he’s suddenly spinning the board around or flipping it over or smacking it off the table entirely.

Like on the following Monday, when he turns up at Jared and Evan’s cafeteria table again, but he reeks of pot and sits huddled over at the far end of the table, staring into space for the entire lunch period and ignoring any attempts at conversation.

Or during the car ride to Tuesday’s tutoring session, when he slumps down in the passenger seat, picking at his nail polish, and quietly says something about feeling sick yesterday that sounds almost like, in the hands of someone more emotionally eloquent, it could be an apology.

Or a week later, during Chemistry, when Adam and Maddie, who apparently had an apocalyptically messy breakup while Jared was busy moping over falling out with Connor, start screaming at each other because they both wanted to use the same sink at the same time and suddenly Jared’s phone buzzes with a text from Connor saying _is this giving you a migraine? because it’s giving me a migraine._ When Jared turns around, Connor raises his eyebrows at him and mimes putting his hands over his ears.

Or a couple of days after that, when Jared is sorting his locker out before school and he’s suddenly struck with that unmistakable feeling that someone is standing behind him.

When he turns around, Connor offers him a smile that’s both far wider and far shakier than any of his previous efforts, and Jared’s heart, not knowing quite how to respond to the mixed emotional signals it’s getting, decides the best course of action is to tie itself in knots.

“Hey,” Connor says.

It’s immediately clear that something is wrong.

“Hey,” Jared responds, and he’s grateful that at least whatever weird shit his heart is doing right now doesn’t appear to be affecting his vocal chords too much. “What’s up, dude?"

“Nothing. Nothing, I’m fine,” Connor says, with the tone of someone who isn’t really remotely fine at all. Then he stops for a second, swaying slightly on his feet and pressing his lips together so firmly that they almost disappear entirely. “Look, um. I know this is weird, and really last minute, and your dad said I should give him a day’s notice, but. Could I maybe stay for dinner after tutoring today?”

The knot in Jared’s heart unravels and it goes swooping up to his throat, like a balloon someone let go of in the middle of tying it.

He doesn’t respond fast enough. Connor’s face falls into a scowl and he goes to move away.

“Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked, don’t bother-”

“Hey, hey, no, it’s fine, it’s fine!” Jared blurts out, waving one hand in Connor’s direction. Thankfully, Connor stops, looking at him with trepidation. “I’m sure my dad will be chill about it. Seriously, he’s been bugging me to invite you over for the past two weeks, if I tell him you’re coming tonight he’ll probably, like, drop everything and run home to prepare you a fucking three course meal.”

Connor stares at the floor.

“And I’d totally love for you to stay as well,” Jared tries. “Seriously.”

And he smiles at Connor. Not his regular smug, toothy grin, but something new, unfamiliar. An echo of Connor’s signature, subtle, half smile, one that he tries to inject with enough warmth that it will draw Connor in, still the hand that’s balling itself into a tight fist by his side, tell him that _I mean it, you’re more than welcome, and whatever the fuck’s going on in your life right now hopefully my dad’s cooking and my shitty, emotionally constipated company will sort of, kind of help a little bit_.

There’s a pause that seems to drag on forever. Then Connor smiles back.

“Thanks,” he says after a moment, sounding genuinely _relieved_.

And then he walks away.

And because he’s still, apparently, got to keep the status of his and Jared’s friendship shrouded in as much mystery as humanly possible, Connor doesn’t talk to Jared again until they meet up after school.

“Hey,” he says, tucking his bangs back in a gesture that looked like it was almost a wave until he thought better of it. “Is it still okay if I stay for dinner?”

Jared’s begun to notice that whenever Connor asks something like that, asks if he can do something, if someone can do something for him, it always sounds like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to say. As if he’s embarrassed, or he thinks Jared’s going to say no, or he thinks he deserves to be turned down. Jared can’t help but wonder how many times Connor’s had questions thrown back in his face before.

“Yeah, of course,” Jared says, and he just about restrains himself from punctuating the sentence with a _dude_ or a _bro_ or something else that’s just a bit too casual in a frankly douchey kind of way when that’s probably not what Connor needs right now. “Look, I know you told me not to ask you how your day was, but-”

Connor manages to cut him off with a single look.

When Jared gets home, his dad’s car is already in the driveway. Which is a little alarming, because even though he doesn’t have any classes on Thursday afternoons it’s practically ingrained in his family’s weekly routine that Jared’s dad usually hangs around on campus grading papers or whatever until the evening. And he hadn’t said anything about leaving early today when Jared texted to ask if Connor could stay for dinner.

Jared checks his phone one more time when he gets out of the car, just to check he didn’t miss any parental updates, but his family group chat remains utterly unenlightening.

 **Jared:** _Hey parents, can Connor stay for dinner tonight? Know it’s short notice, kinda seems like an emergency but not gonna pry_

 **Dad:** _YES!!_

 **Mom:** _Of course!!!!!! Very, very excited to meet him :D_

 **Jared:** _Okay PLEASE do not be embarrassing._

 **Dad:** _You underestimate me, Jared :(_

Jared puts his phone back in his pocket, throws a confused shrug in Connor’s direction, and opens the front door, only to be instantly hit with the smell of baking and the sound of some oldies radio station wafting through the house. He’s barely closed the door behind him when the music cuts off.

A few seconds later, his dad emerges from the kitchen, fully decked out in oven mitts, apron, and an honest to god chef’s hat, arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome and goodwill that only really serves to draw attention to the whole tragic ensemble.

“Hey, dad,” Jared says through gritted teeth.

“Heya, son!” His dad swoops in to clap him on the shoulder, his mitted hand making an - admittedly sort of comical - muffled slapping noise upon impact. “Good day at school?”

“Yup. Absolutely swell.” Jared’s grin could not be stiffer if he tried.

“Where’s our very important guest?” his dad continues. He graciously ignores how Jared makes a weird spluttery choking noise in response in favor of making a big show of standing on his tiptoes to peer across the room. “Ah! There you are! How’s it going, Connor?”

Jared turns around to see Connor standing on one leg by the doorway, totally frozen in the middle of unlacing his boots, eyes wide in what appears to be absolute horror.

“Alright,” he says after several seconds of complete inactivity.

“Great!” Jared’s dad _looks_ like he tries to shoot a pair of finger guns in Connor’s direction, but it’s kind of hard to tell considering the whole oven mitt situation. Probably for the best. “Well, I’ll try not to disturb you two while you get on with your work. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“We won’t,” Jared says, and he flaps one hand in Connor’s direction in an attempt to usher him upstairs.

“By the way, do you like coffee cake, Connor?”

“No, he _doesn’t_ ,” Jared groans, at about the exact same time that Connor pipes up, “Oh, uh, yeah.”

His dad just smiles wryly and backs into the kitchen. If their kitchen had a door, Jared imagines his dad would have just closed it in his face to make a point.

Thankfully, Jared’s dad stays true to his word and doesn’t disturb him and Connor for the next two hours. Which is more than can be said for his mom, who comes barging into his room the instant she gets home (she does knock, to be fair, but it’s one of those Mom Knocks that really just means “I’ve decided I’m coming in whether you like it or not and this is your five second warning”).

“Heya, mathematicians!” she calls out, flinging the door open. Then she stops dead in the doorway, her mouth morphing into the kind of smile people normally only use when they’re meeting a friend’s new puppy or trying to talk to an especially shy toddler.  “Oh, you must be Connor, right?”

Connor just about turns his head in Jared’s mom’s direction, nodding so tentatively it barely even counts as any kind of motion at all.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you!” Jared’s mom continues, which is definitely an interesting statement considering Jared still hasn’t really gotten round to properly telling her about Connor - or telling her anything _important_ , at least. He is _really_ going to need to have words with his dad later. “How’s the tutoring going?”

“Fine,” Connor says, in a slightly strangled tone of voice. Then he bows his head and adds, “Jared’s a really good tutor.”

Well, if by some absolute miracle his mom didn’t already know that Jared’s harboring an absolutely gargantuan crush on Connor, she’s totally going to figure it out now because he can literally feeling himself turning the color of a fucking lobster.

“Good! Oh, I’m so glad to hear that,” Jared’s mom says, and she sits down on the end of his bed even as Jared tries to turn back towards his desk in an attempt to say ‘Okay! I’m gonna try and bring this conversation to a close now!’

“Hey, were you doubting my tutoring skills?” Jared says, tongue firmly in cheek.

Connor scoffs, and Jared makes a little mock swipe at him with one hand.

“Not at all, honey,” his mom says, her voice laced with fond exasperation. “By the way, your dad says dinner’s going to be ready at around 7. So you two can stay up here for a while, if you want, or you can come and hang out downstairs. Your choice.”

Jared glances across at Connor, who is already looking back at him, mouth moving in barely audible sentence fragments that seem to suggest he’d really rather Jared made the decision here.

“Sure, we’ll just chill up here,” Jared says after a couple of seconds, and he really hopes he’s the only person who’s aware of even the slight possibility that that might come off as some sort of euphemism.

“Great! Well, I won’t bother you further,” his mom says. She then adds, in an effort to bother them further, “Do you need anything, Connor? A drink of water? Or juice? I might fix myself a cup of coffee, I don’t know if you drink coffee-”

“ _Mom._ ” Jared looks back at Connor, who’s shaking his head slightly in response to all the questions but doesn’t really seem totally engaged in the conversation anymore, choosing instead to focus his attention on the ring on his right middle finger. “He’s _fine_.”

“Okay, okay,” his mom says, finally relenting. She gets up from the bed and starts backing towards the door. “I’ll call you down when dinner’s ready.”

The second the door closes, Connor lets out an extended exhale like he’s been holding his breath for the past two minutes and can finally start to breathe normally again.

For a moment Jared says quiet, watching as Connor slumps down in his seat, spinning that ring round and round on his finger with the thumb of the same hand. Then he leans forward, clasping his hands on his lap in what he realizes is a total rip-off of the way Mrs Walker braced herself to ask him about this whole tutoring scenario in the first place, and wow, apparently a month of tutoring is enough to turn him into a wannabe Cool, Well Meaning Teacher himself.

“Hey,” he says, and pauses for a second longer, the silence so pronounced he can almost hear the faint whirring of Connor’s ring. “Sorry about my parents. I know they can be a bit-”

He waits again out of courtesy, seeing if Connor wants to fill in the sentence himself. He doesn’t.

“Full on, I guess?” Jared continues.

“It’s fine.” Connor shakes his head. “Really. They seem nice.” This time _he_ pauses. “It’s just a bit…”

“Takes getting used to?” Jared offers, and Connor nods. “If you want I can tell them to give you a break.”

“It’s fine.”

“Alright.” Jared wishes that, just for once, Connor would give him something to work with, but he decides not to press the matter any further. Not with Connor, at least. “Well. I don’t know what you wanna do until dinner. If you’ve got other homework or something then feel free, I guess-”

Before he can even offer up another suggestion, Connor leans down and starts rooting through his bag, eventually digging out a small book. Jared tries to get a glimpse of the cover, but Connor curls up in the armchair, knees pulled up nearly to his chest, resting the book against his thighs in a way that completely disguises it.

“ _Gatsby_?” Jared asks. “Fair enough, I totally need to get started on that presentation, so-”

“Nope,” Connor responds.

“Okay, what is it, then?”

Connor sighs, closing the book. He immediately places his left hand over the front cover, a weirdly protective motion.

“It’s just something for French class, alright?” He sounds preemptively exhausted by the question.

“Jesus, you’re reading _books_ for French class? That’s crazy.”

Connor shrugs as if it’s really no big deal at all, like he’s not sitting in the same room as someone who has just about managed to progress past talking about the weather in Spanish. Then he opens up the book again, shuffling around a little further so Jared can’t see it at all, and starts to read.

After taking a moment to ensure the conversation is definitely as finished as Connor seemingly wants it to be, Jared pulls up his family group chat again.

 **Jared:** _Okay parents you’re actually scaring him, please chill out a bit_

Then, partly because he can’t be bothered to start doing homework forty-five minutes before dinner and partly because it allows him to keep surreptitiously glancing at Connor without him catching on, he plays idly on his phone, alternating between scrolling absentmindedly through Reddit and shooting semi-disinterested messages back at the group chat with his camp friends, all of whom seem to be in the midst of drama far more convoluted and actually _dramatic_ than Jared’s current situation, so even if he wanted to he’d feel a bit lame cutting in with _Hey guys, my crush is currently sitting mere feet away from me with his nose in some mysterious French book and I’m like weirdly turned on by the whole tableau_.

When Jared’s mom finally calls up that dinner is ready, Connor looks up from his book, blinking firmly and stretching like he’s just woken up from a long sleep.

“By the way,” Jared says as they head downstairs. “Be nice about the plates. My mom made the set we use for guests and they’re obscenely ugly but we hold them near and dear.”

Connor smiles politely back with the air of someone who desperately wants Jared’s family to do absolutely anything remotely normal.

They head into the dining room - sure enough, his mom’s plates, with their garish paint job from her Bright Colors Phase five years ago, are laid out on the table - and Jared’s dad gestures for Connor to take a seat right opposite Jared’s regular spot. Which is a totally unnecessary underhanded act, but fair enough.

“I made eggplant parm,” Jared’s dad says as Connor sits down, with an air of self-satisfaction more befitting of someone who had never seen an eggplant before today than someone who makes the same meal every single time he has guests over.

Connor makes a very small appreciative noise in response. His hands are resting on his lap, out of Jared’s sight, but he’s fairly certain he’s fiddling with his rings again.

“It really is nice to finally meet you, Connor,” Jared’s mom says, far calmer than she was earlier. Clearly she got Jared’s text.

Connor nods just a little, a gesture which he then repurposes to signal to Jared’s dad that he really doesn’t need any more food added to the already formidable serving being heaped onto his plate.

“Did you have a nice day at school?” she continues. Another positively miniscule nod. “Are you doing anything fun at the moment? You know, classes, extracurriculars?”

This time Connor shrugs, murmuring “Not really, no.”

Jared suddenly finds himself wishing Evan was around to leap up and start asking everyone what item of furniture they most strongly identify with. But Evan’s not here, so it looks like he’s going to have to do everything himself.

“Connor’s reading an entire book for French class,” Jared says, and when Connor looks at him in alarm he quickly mouths back, “It’s okay, don’t freak out.”

“An entire book? That’s incredible,” Jared’s dad says.

“It’s really not that - it’s just a children’s book. And I’d already read it in English, so.” Connor looks like he wants his eggplant parm to swallow him up instead of the other way round.

“Well, I think that’s still very impressive, don’t you, Bea?” Jared’s dad says, with a glance across the table. Jared’s mom makes a small “Mm-hm” noise in agreement.

Connor still doesn’t really look like he knows whether to feel embarrassed or encouraged by all this positive attention. And before he can really make his mind up, Jared’s parents start to full on grill him, and Connor is forced to admit - still looking mildly uncomfortable about the whole thing - that he’s reading _The Little Prince_ (Jared thinks he has a copy lying around at the bottom of some dusty box of old childhood picture books in the garage, and he makes a mental note to go looking for it at the weekend) for an extra credit assignment, which is a surprise in itself because the general consensus among the other kids at school is that it’s a miracle if Connor even does the regular credit work. As he’s prodded further, Connor very politely reveals that yes, he likes French a lot, but his favorite class is probably English, or maybe _classes_ , plural is more accurate because he’s taking a Contemporary World Literature class as well this semester, and yes, he’s enjoying it a lot, and he supposes that yes, he’d maybe want to major in English at college but no, he doesn’t have any schools in mind, he hasn’t really made any plans for college at all.

“Well, if you wanted to stick around here, there’s a lot of humanities majors who take my classes,” Jared’s dad says.

“Dad’s a geology professor,” Jared explains through a mouthful of food.

“I sure am,” his dad responds. “And I’m _very_ proud of my class. You know, most of my students say it _rocks_.”

At the same time, Jared’s parents exchange a high five, Jared groans, and, most alarming of all, Connor lets out a short but unmistakable bark of laughter, unexpectedly high and clear and carefree. As everyone turns to see where that totally unprecedented noise came from, Connor clamps one hand over his mouth, which only partially disguises the fact that he’s flushing scarlet.

“We’re keeping this one around, Jare,” his dad says, pointing his fork in Connor’s direction. Connor is suddenly shoveling food into his mouth as if he thinks that stuffing it with eggplant parm will act like a stopper on any other potential outbursts. “He actually appreciates my jokes.”

“ _Dad_!” Jared exclaims through gritted teeth, even though from the way Connor’s smiling bashfully across the table it looks like he, at least, didn’t read too much into the statement.

“See?!” This time the fork points at Jared. “ _He_ just thinks I’m embarrassing.”

“Well, you _are_ ,” Jared retorts.

“So you’re in Jared’s English class, right, Connor?” Jared’s mom says, clearly deciding to cut the possibility of a full on father and son snark-off short. “You’ve got those presentations coming up, how’s that going for you?”

“Alright,” Connor murmurs with a slightly lopsided shrug, reverting swiftly back to Shy And Painfully Polite House Guest Mode. Jared suspects that “alright” might be Connor speak for ‘The mere thought of standing up and giving a speech in front of my peers makes me want to vomit’.

It’s enough to move the conversation on, at least.

Over the rest of dinner, Jared starts to wonder what the fuck he’s been doing wrong, because his parents manage to tease out more information about Connor in one evening than Jared had managed in over a month. He fills in the gaps in his approximation of Connor’s schedule, and begins to get the impression that there might be a touch of wilful ignorance involved in his classmates’ firmly held belief that Connor’s basically a moron. He learns that Connor isn’t really involved in any extracurriculars, although a guy in his history class tried to invite him along to Model UN and his English teacher last year briefly attempted to get him involved in the school play. He learns that, in addition to _The Little Prince_ and whatever else he has to read for his absolute plethora of literature classes, Connor’s also working his way through _Anna Karenina_. He learns that even though Connor likes cats he’s never had one himself, and that he thinks dogs are just sort of alright, and that he’s allergic to nuts (although that last one came up more as a practical concern related to Jared’s dad’s coffee cake). It’s only the fact that Connor doesn’t share absolutely everything - he smoothly circumvents a query about his parents by asking for another glass of water - that sort of reassures Jared that maybe he is still a largely secretive person and the blame can’t entirely fall on any social incompetence on his end.

Jared also learns, as his mom clears the table, that Connor is endearingly polite enough to ask if she needs any help loading up the dishwasher.

“Hey, it’s getting pretty late,” Jared’s dad says, while his mom reassures Connor that that’s very sweet of him but she can handle a few dirty dishes herself. “Do you need to be getting home soon, Connor? I mean, don’t take this as me kicking you out, you’re welcome to stay a little longer if you want, but I don’t want your parents getting worried.”

Connor genuinely hesitates, apparently weighing up the pros and cons of going home versus being roped into Kleinman Family Game Night or whatever it is Jared’s dad has planned.

“No, yeah, I should probably head home,” he says eventually, and pushes his chair back in preparation to get up.

“Hey, hey, not so fast!” Jared’s dad exclaims. “At least let me drop you off home. It’s only fair.”

“Oh, I really don’t - it’s fine, I don’t live that far away.”

“Whereabouts?”

Connor falters, and Jared’s dad sighs knowingly.

“It’s alright, you’re not imposing on us,” he says. “I’m very happy to drive you.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Connor murmurs, and before he really knows what he’s doing Jared finds himself cutting in with an exclamation that he’s coming along for the ride.

Most of the journey home is pretty quiet, Connor clearly feeling exhausted by all the talking he’s been doing. Other than a gently exasperated shake of the head when Connor reveals his actual definitely-not-within-walking-distance address, Jared’s dad is surprisingly well-behaved. And Jared’s still too busy trying to take in everything he’s learned about Connor.

As they pull up in Connor’s driveway, Jared adds to his newfound Connor knowledge the fact that, apparently, his family is absolutely fucking _loaded_.

His house is massive without being totally ostentatious, a new-build brick affair that screams ‘We’re rich, but we’re, like, _classy_ rich’. The front is all carefully landscaped garden and elegant stone pathways leading up to a doorway adorned with a matching pair of potted plants, all illuminated in the dark by warm lighting spilling through every window and an actual fucking _lamppost_ by the driveway. Jared knows his own family aren’t exactly poor, or whatever, but he suddenly feels like a freaking pauper sitting here in front of fucking Château Murphy. At least they’re in his dad’s fairly nice car rather than Jared’s own crappy old Yaris.

And it’s at least a little reassuring that Connor seems pretty embarrassed by the whole spectacle. Not that that’s surprising, considering he’s just about the furthest thing from an entitled rich kid stereotype that Jared could possibly think of.

“Thanks for having me,” he says quietly, and then pauses, mouth still slightly agape, like he’s trying to figure out how exactly to address Jared’s dad.

“Just call me Daniel,” Jared’s dad says. “And Jared’s mom will happily answer to Bea, for future reference.”

“Okay.” Connor appears mildly flummoxed by the informality.

“I mean, don’t worry about it,” Jared pipes up, leaning between the two front seats to join in the conversation. “Evan still calls _both_ my parents Dr Kleinman, and he’s known them since before he could talk.”

“You’re both doctors?” Connor says.

“Yup,” Jared answers, putting on a smug grin. “It’s where I got my brains.”

“I don’t think being a smartass is quite the same gene,” Connor deadpans.

Jared’s dad responds with a spluttered “Ha! Nice one.”

Before anyone can say anything else, the front door opens and a stern-looking middle aged man comes marching down the pathway. He looks like exactly the kind of person to live in that sort of house, dressed in an outfit that’s midway between ‘CEO unwinding after work’ and ‘smart-casual drinks at the country club’. More concisely, he looks fundamentally diametrically opposed to Connor in every possible way.

Connor freezes for a split second, just long enough for Jared’s dad to take the initiative and leap out of the car to intercept - presumably - Connor’s dad. By the time Connor opens the passenger side door, Jared’s dad is already in full conversational flow.

“...I hope we didn’t keep Connor too late. He was just such an absolute pleasure to have over, I think we all lost track of the time.”

Jared slides down in the backseat, cracking the window open just enough to eavesdrop.

“Connor didn’t actually tell us he was going somewhere else for dinner,” Connor’s dad says. His tone is friendly enough. It could almost pass for totally standard parental chatter if it weren’t for the fact that Connor, who’s now looped round the front of the car to stand beside Jared’s dad, is staring intently at his own feet, thumb flicking at that spinner ring on his right hand all over again.

Jared’s not sure what to make of the fact that he’s come to be able to identify so many of Connor’s nervous tics.

“Oh. I’m sorry about that, if I’d known I would have asked him to give you a call-”

“His mother was worried sick.” Despite the third person, that sentence is clearly directed at Connor, who’s still staunchly refusing to make eye contact with his dad.

“Of course, I’m sure.” Although he’s standing with his back to the car, Jared can sense his dad trying very hard to smile. “But there was no harm done, in any case. We’ve got him home safe, he’s been fed, and I’m sure Connor will remember to let you know in future if he’s going to be late.”

“Hm.” Connor’s dad looks completely unconvinced. That skeptical look is the closest Jared’s gotten to seeing any inkling of a family resemblance. “Connor, I think we should talk about this inside.”

Connor’s head actually snaps upward towards _Jared’s_ dad in alarm, like he’s begging for him to stall the conversation or bundle Connor back into the car and drive off or something.

“I didn’t catch your name, by the way,” Jared’s dad says. It’s unclear whether it’s a deliberate subject change or just him being polite.

“Larry.” His tone is perfectly cordial, if a tad businesslike, and he holds out one hand.

“I’m Daniel.” He doesn’t go in for the handshake.

“Well, we’d better head in,” Larry says, with a very pointed glance in Connor’s direction.

“No, no, of course. Don’t let me keep you.” Jared’s dad appears to try for another smile, even though his body language is tense. “We genuinely would love to have Connor over again any time. He really is a great kid.”

Either Larry doesn’t respond or whatever he says is too quiet for Jared to make out, but either way he turns and stalks back up the pathway towards the house, Connor trailing dejectedly behind him. Jared’s dad waits for them to go inside before returning to the car.

“Well,” he says, slamming the driver’s side door shut. “I think we can safely say Connor didn’t get his good manners from his father.”

Jared snorts, far too preoccupied to engage in the conversation further even though, normally, he loves nothing more than hearing his dad’s petty gripes about obnoxious individuals he’s encountered.

When they get home, Jared’s dad heads straight to the family room while Jared takes off his shoes by the door. A few seconds later, he hears his dad saying something about wanting to have a quiet word upstairs.

Never one to miss out on hot gossip, especially when it’s probably some sort of debrief on the Connor-Kleinman dinner date, Jared waits for his parents to head on up, and then follows at a safe distance. He hovers in the hallway between his room and his parents’. It sounds like their conversation is already in full swing.

“No, no, I mean. I don’t think there’s anything, you know, like _that_ going on,” his dad says in hushed tones. “But I’m definitely not keen on him.”

Jared’s stomach drops.

“And Connor, he seemed alright when you dropped him off?”

“He seemed nervous,” Jared’s dad says. “I know Jared said it seemed urgent that Connor came over tonight, but I didn’t think-”

“No, of course.”

“And, you know, Connor’s _such_ a sweet kid-”

“Oh, he _is_ ,” Jared’s mom gushes. “Very quiet, though. I mean, he warmed up eventually. But I think it’s probably a good thing that he’s got someone a little more, you know, like _Jared_ to take him under his wing.”

Jared decides to overlook the potential backhandedness of that comment. He also tries to ignore the faint flutter in his chest at the thought of having Connor anywhere near his proverbial wing.

“I do think,” his mom’s voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe this is just me, getting all maternal and worried. But did you get the impression that Connor doesn’t really-”

“That Jared might be his only friend?” his dad finishes. “Yeah. Poor kid.”

That one probably wasn’t even _meant_ to be an insult, but _ouch_.

“And also... I guess this is just my mom instincts again, but-” Jared’s mom’s voice drops even further until, even with his ear pressed right up to the door, Jared can’t make out anything else. He still hangs around though, just in case his parents suddenly forget to whisper again, but it’s not until ten minutes later that his mom, suddenly audible, announces, “Well, I’m going to go and say goodnight to Jared.”

Jared swears under his breath and scrambles across the hall and into his room, just managing to pull himself upright and start haphazardly reorganising the contents of his backpack before his mom pokes her head through the door.

“Heya, pumpkin,” she says, and Jared rolls his eyes at the pet name. “Can we have a quick chat?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jared says. And then, in a semi-desperate attempt not to arouse suspicion, he adds, “I was just sorting out my stuff for school tomorrow.”

His mom just pats him on the shoulder and perches on the edge of the bed, patting the mattress beside her. It’s such a typical Concerned Mom gesture that Jared doesn’t need to think for two seconds about what this conversation is going to entail.

“I had a lovely time at dinner today,” she says, putting one arm around Jared and squeezing tight. “That Connor’s a real star, you know.”

Jared groans. “Okay, you can just say that Dad told you.”

His mom frowns, cocking her head to one side. “Told me what?”

“Oh my God, _please_ don’t play dumb. I _know_ he’s told you I have a crush on Connor.”

To his absolute horror, his mom actually looks surprised.

“...Actually, he didn’t tell me that.”

“ _Shit_!”

“Hey! _Language_ ,” his mom says, but she’s still smiling fondly. “I think he assumed that you’d tell me yourself when you were ready. And I’m very glad you did. Even if you sort of thought I already knew. And, to be fair, I _kind_ of had a little suspicion.”

“Oh God, you _did_?”

“Don’t worry, if you’re scared you were obvious to Connor, I don’t think you were.” Jared’s mom rubs his back, and he wonders if she can feel his heart pounding. “It’s just mom intuition. I can _tell_ when my little pumpkin’s smitten.”

“Ugh, _mom_!” Jared protests as his mom goes to squeeze his cheeks.

“Okay, okay, sorry!” she exclaims. Then, like putting a mask on, her expression, her entire freaking body language, becomes serious, subdued. “I did want to talk to you about Connor, though.”

Jared shuffles uncomfortably where he’s sitting.

His mom sighs, looking like she’s mentally sorting through her notecards for a rehearsed speech. “Like I said, Connor seems like a really lovely guy. Your dad and I both think he’s great. But we also think he might be having a little bit of a rough time at the moment.”

Jared doesn’t exactly need to be told this, really. He goes to school with Connor. He’s seen the guy having a rough time for years, whether he’s throwing fits in the middle of class, or trudging to the nurse’s office with a bloody nose from his latest encounter with Adam and his cronies, or skipping class entirely to go out and smoke behind the gym. But he didn’t realize any of that was the kind of shit his mom would be able to pick up on from an hour and a half of small talk around the dinner table.

Even so, he nods.

“And I think, you know, regardless of whatever else you really want to happen down the road, you could be a really valuable friend for him.”

Ah, Jared recognises this conversation now. It’s the same conversation his mom has with him about Evan like, four times a year, where she says that she’s been talking to Heidi Hansen and Heidi says that Evan is feeling a little bit isolated right now and maybe Jared could keep an eye out for him, invite Evan to sit with his other buddies at lunch, that would be really nice. He never really points out that he’d gladly hang out with Evan with precisely zero provocation, even if he gives the guy shit sometimes. And the same goes for Connor.

“So do you think you could look out for him?” his mom says. “I’m sure it would really help him, just to know someone’s there for him. What do you say?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jared says, even though the thought of going up to Connor and saying some corny crap like ‘Hey, bro, just want you to know I’m _here_ for you’ is mortifying to even consider.

“Good. I’m glad.” His mom leans across and kisses him on the forehead. “Goodnight, Jared. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Jared says.

His mom walks out, closing the door behind her. Jared reaches for his phone almost subconsciously.

Maybe outright telling Connor ‘Hey, I’m here for you’ is extraordinarily fucking cringey. But, Jared thinks to himself as he pulls up his texts, that doesn’t mean he can’t do something that aims for that general sentiment.

_Hey! Hope you’re doing okay_

The next part of the message proves a lot harder to write, but after a solid fifteen different variations on the same sentence Jared finally manages to land on something that doesn’t come off like he’s saying goodnight after their first date.

_You can totally stay for dinner again any time_

For good measure, he sends a dumb little gif of a guy giving thumbs up.

He hopes he’s getting the message across.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for reading, and thanks as always to @evol_love and @phonecallfromgod for their invaluable help and support (special shoutout to anna phonecallfromgod for letting us both independently think of and write our own takes on "connor meets the kleinmans" - if you want to see her version, with a kleinsen twist, then check out her excellent fic "Don't Call It A Sophomore Slump")
> 
> follow me on tumblr @coniello, just in case your dash isn't already awful and terrible


	7. Chapter 7

When Jared wakes up the next morning, Connor hasn’t replied to his text.

He tries not to worry. If anything, the encounter with Connor’s dad last night sort of goes some way towards explaining the mystery of Connor’s disappearing phone the other week, without Jared having to make too many mental leaps. But no matter how hard he tries not to totally freak out, something about Connor trailing away last night, withdrawn and dejected, and then proceeding to totally drop off the radar puts a pit in Jared’s stomach. He thought it was bad enough when Connor was actively avoiding replying to his messages, but the feeling that _this_ lack of contact instills in him is a different beast entirely, a persistent pang of anxiety that he can’t quite justify even to himself.

Both in an attempt to calm his own nerves and because it’s probably what good friends are meant to do, Jared goes looking for Connor the second he gets to school, trawling every shadowy little corner the campus has to offer to no avail. By the time he’s covered all the places he can realistically imagine Connor lurking he’s like, _this_ close to saying ‘fuck it’ to dignity and pulling out his phone to message _Zoe_ with some casually bullshitted excuse about why he needs to talk to Connor right this instant.

But then, just as he’s about to give up entirely (because he’s chill with Zoe, but not quite chill enough to message her out of the blue about her brother like that), inspiration strikes.

The school library is surprisingly empty at this hour, occupied only by a handful of students clearly trying to cram through an entire week’s worth of homework in the ten minutes remaining before the first bell. And a couple of those freshman furries huddled excitedly around the absolutely pitiful manga section, but Jared slips past them as quickly as possible.

He finally finds Connor hiding in the very back corner of the library, near the computer lab, curled up on the floor in a little alcove between two bookshelves and intently focused on an absolutely monstrous tome. A rush of relief floods through Jared for reasons he can’t quite consciously explain.

“Hey,” he whispers, lowering himself to the ground.

Connor startles, slamming the book shut and drawing it close to his chest.

“Hey,” he replies after a few seconds, uncertainty permeating every aspect of his voice and body language.

“Did you get my text?”

Connor lets out a sarcastic huff of breath and rolls his eyes. “My dad took my phone.”

Bingo. “I’m sorry, dude.”

“It’s fine.” Connor repositions himself slightly, still gripping the book like a sad little kid clinging to a stuffed toy. Then he stops, frowning and pressing his lips together in that way he always does when he’s about to say something difficult. “Thanks, by the way. For last night. You really didn’t have to do that. I know it was weird-”

“Anytime,” Jared replies, jutting in just as Connor’s voice begins to increase in both pace and shakiness. “And it wasn’t weird. For the record.”

“Oh.”

“Seriously. You can totally come again any time,” Jared continues. And then, because he’s still hyper-aware that dinner invitations just inherently skirt a dangerous line between platonic and romantic, he adds, “Now that my dad knows you’ll actually laugh at his shitty jokes he’s probably desperate to invite you back just so he can try the same ‘we’re having Spaghetti for dinner’ gag he’s been subjecting me to, like, twice a month for the past nine years.”

“Well, I’m grounded for the next week, so don’t hold your breath,” Connor says flatly.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a pretty pointless punishment considering I don’t exactly have a packed social calendar, so it’s whatever.”

Even though Connor accompanies this statement with a shrug and a dry, self-deprecating smirk, Jared has no idea how he’s meant to respond, and the conversation hits a lull. Connor runs one finger along the corner of his book, the pages flicking quietly under his touch, like he wants to get back to reading but isn’t totally sure if it’s socially acceptable to do so.

In the silence, Jared finds himself thinking back to that conversation with his mom last night. Not to mention the shit he overheard from both his parents. He looks Connor over, taking in his hunched posture, his tired eyes, how his nail polish is chipped around the edges where it wasn’t last night, and he figures that, especially if his text isn’t going to get read any time soon, now is probably as good a time as ever to try and vocally give a shit.

“Hey,” he says, daring to shuffle a little closer. Not, like, _flirty_ close. But ‘supportive friend trying to have a sort of serious but not _scary_ conversation’ close. “So, uh. I know shit got kinda rough with your dad last night. Are you, like… are you good?”

Connor freezes.

“I have to get to class,” he says after a moment, getting up abruptly.

Jared just watches him go. He figures that, at this point, pointing out that the warning bell hasn’t even gone yet is way more trouble than it’s worth.

* * *

Over lunch, Jared is in the middle of giving Evan a full debrief on the Connor Murphy Dinner Saga when Zoe comes up to their table.

“Hey,” she says, tapping Evan (who promptly turns the approximate hue of a firetruck) on the shoulder. “I got your message, you said you had my-”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, yeah, yes, I do, sorry,” Evan exclaims, leaning under the table and rooting through his backpack. When he pops up again, he’s clutching a gray canvas pencil case covered in small felt tip and ballpoint pen doodles that look like they’ve accumulated over the course of several years.

“Thanks. You’re amazing,” Zoe says, smiling warmly at Evan, and Jared suddenly feels compelled to beg her to stop before the poor guy actually passes out.

Then Zoe turns to Jared, smile fading away until her expression is totally flat.

“Why could I hear my brother screaming your name last night?”

Evan suddenly doubles over with a violent coughing fit, and Jared sorely wishes he could follow suit.

“ _What_?” Jared manages to say after a few seconds.

“He was fighting with my dad last night, and your name kept coming up. Why?”

“ _Oh_. Oh, shit. Yeah,” Jared says. “He stayed late at my house last night and I guess he, like, didn’t tell your parents and your dad was mad about it?”

“Why was he at your house?” Zoe’s delivery gives absolutely nothing away about why she’s asking all these questions. It feels weirdly like a police interrogation.

“Because I’m tutoring him? And then he stayed for dinner?” Jared feels himself getting defensive. “That’s all, jeez.”

Zoe stops in her tracks.

“ _You’re_ my brother’s math tutor,” she says slowly, with the tone of voice of someone putting two and two together. Although Jared has no idea what the crap this particular two and two are even meant to be, so maybe _he’s_ the one in need of a math tutor right now.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Right.” Zoe nods to herself. There’s a few seconds of almost palpably tense silence, and then she turns back to Evan, warming back up so quickly that Jared can practically hear the _click_ of some internal thermostat. “See you around, Evan.”

Then she walks off, stuffing her pencil case into her backpack as she goes. It takes Evan a good ten seconds to stop staring after her and redirect his attention to Jared.

“What was _that_ about?” he asks.

Jared hates admitting he doesn’t know shit, but he’s got to admit that on this particular occasion Zoe has him totally stumped.

“Beats me.” Then, to make up for the fact that the Murphy siblings are now apparently tag teaming to make him feel like a complete idiot, he adds, “Hey. Do you think the shape of Zoe’s pencil case is _just_ phallic enough that you handing it back to her is, like, weirdly symbolic, or-”

He’s cut off by Evan reaching across the table to slap his hand.

* * *

On Monday morning, Mrs Talley tells everyone in Jared’s English class what day they’re due to give their _Gatsby_ presentations. Jared’s up on Thursday, which is a little annoying because it means he has one less day to bullshit his way through an assignment that he’d already probably be underprepared for, but he doesn’t really give too much of a crap either way. Evan and Connor are both down to present on Friday, and it’s hard to tell which of them looks less happy about the whole situation.

Either way, from that English class onwards, Evan’s anxiety levels skyrocket. Whenever Jared brings up the presentations to him - mostly because he’s trying to get some advice and guidance from someone who’s actually attempted a proper close reading of _The Great Gatsby_ instead of just skimming through looking for dick jokes - Evan desperately asks if they can change the subject, one hand tapping at his chest like he’s a cartoon skeleton trying to play his own ribcage like a xylophone. At one point, when they’re FaceTiming after school, Jared says the dreaded P-word and Evan literally hangs up on him, before shooting him an apologetic text claiming that his phone suddenly switched itself off, which would almost have been a convincing excuse if it wasn’t for the fact that it came literally ten seconds after the call ended.

On Wednesday, Jared gets to their usual lunch table to find Evan already sitting there, shuffling through notecards and whispering to himself.

“Are you trying to get yourself, like, committed to a psychiatric institution _just_ to get out of this presentation?” Jared says as he sits down.

“What?” Evan shakes his head impatiently, attention still firmly on his notes.

“Because if you keep sitting here talking to yourself that’s definitely what’s going to happen. I mean, _I_ think that’s kind of overkill and you should probably just fake the stomach flu or something, but-”

“Oh my God no, Jared, I’m _not_ trying to get out of it,” Evan hisses, finally planting his notecards face down on the table. “I’m just. I’m practising, that’s all.”

“Okay. Sure. Well, why don’t you practise in front of me instead of sitting here muttering to yourself like a weirdo?”

Evan shakes his head. “No, no. I think I’d rather just do it by myself, actually.”

“Cool.” Jared starts picking at his lunch.

Evan gives him a pointed look. “Sorry, I, uh. I mean…”

“Okay, okay, _Jesus_.” Jared grimaces and gets up again. “Consider me ousted.”

He thinks he hears Evan mumble “Sorry” again as he’s leaving, but to be fair, that could just be the result of him literally writing apologies into his own presentation or something. Because he _would_.

Jared almost texts Connor, who at least has his phone back again, to figure out some sort of last minute lunch arrangement, but the thing is he’s _also_ being annoyingly distant this week. For one thing, apparently his being grounded also applies to going to Jared’s for tutoring, which is fair enough from a “Jared was directly responsible for him being late home on two separate occasions” point of view but also makes literally no sense from a “caring about your son’s education” standpoint. They do have a couple of brief conversations at school, but it’s abundantly clear that Connor is also preoccupied, and in the absence of their weekly scheduled four hours alone to attempt a more meaningful conversation Jared can’t really do anything about it. Especially because Connor turns down his suggestion that they meet before school or during lunch one day to chat about homework because he’s ‘got other shit to worry about at the moment’, which is definitely characteristically cryptic Connor speak for ‘I’m absolutely shitting myself over this presentation’. It doesn’t really seem worthwhile to push the matter further.

Thursday comes, and Jared delivers his presentation, and it’s neither remarkably good nor remarkably bad. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t deliver any totally groundbreaking analysis on Nick Carraway, and a little more content than he’d like to admit is pretty much lifted direct from Sparknotes, but at least he manages to keep everyone engaged with some jaunty delivery and a handful of well placed gags. He actually catches sight of _Connor_ chuckling a little at his fairly lewd take on all the lever touching in the elevator with Mr McKee. It would be a total understatement to say that he’s not sure what to make of that.

On Friday morning, Jared is just getting out of his car when he gets a text.

 **Evan:** _Hi, where are you? Can I talk to you?_

And then, a few seconds later, as if there wasn’t enough of an undercurrent of urgency in the initial message:

 **Evan:** _Please??_

 _Just got here_ , Jared replies, accelerating into a full power walk across the parking lot. _I’ll come find you at your locker, k?_

He’s pretty used to seeing Evan totally stressed out in the face of public speaking, but today when he gets to Evan’s locker the poor guy is practically already in tears, standing there, lips quivering, wringing the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“Okay, what’s up?” Jared says, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“I can’t do this presentation,” Evan blurts out, and he’s breathing like he’s just run a fucking marathon even though it looks like he’s been waiting by his locker for several minutes. “I know, I _know_ that sounds so _stupid_ but I just, I thought maybe if I was really prepared it would be fine but I just couldn’t stop _thinking_ about, I don’t even know what I was thinking but then I couldn’t even _sleep_ last night, and-”

“Wait, wait, slow down. Why are you talking to _me_ about this?” Jared asks. Even though he’s very aware that Evan doesn’t really have any other options, he’d definitely be his own last choice for providing moral support at a time like this.

“It’s, oh my God it’s really stupid you’re going to think I’m such an _idiot_ because I can’t even do _this_ but, but now I’m going to have to ask Mrs Talley if I can postpone my presentation for, not even for any real reason because I’m not even sick or anything I just, I just can’t do it, and, and, and-”

“And you’re too scared to go and ask her by yourself?” Jared says, totally matter-of-fact.

Evan nods, screwing his eyes shut like he’s ashamed to even look at Jared. Or like he’s fighting back tears. Or both.

“Jesus Christ,” Jared sighs.

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay, no, _don’t_ start apologizing,” Jared says. “It’s _fine_ , I’ll come with you, just. Chill, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Because, like, no offense, but you look so terrible that Mrs Talley would be a complete dick not to side with you.”

Evan cracks a sad, shaky little smile at that.

When they get to Mrs Talley’s classroom, the door is ajar. Jared can hear her talking to someone inside.

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t see any reason to let you sit out on this presentation, Connor.”

 _Fuck_. Jared’s heart drops. He glances across at Evan, who’s scrunching up his entire face at this point, eyes shut tight and lips pressed firmly together. He’s actually going red with the sheer effort of it all. It would almost be comical if he wasn’t so obviously on the verge of completely losing his shit.

“I already _said_ , I don’t feel good.” Connor’s voice is tinged with frustration.

“Well, you’re clearly well enough to be in school, so you’re well enough to present. It’s as simple as that.”

Evan lets out a pathetic, dismayed whimper.

“I’m _not_ ,” Connor snaps. “My parents _made_ me come in, you’re not _listening_ to me.”

“Okay, don’t talk back to me, Connor.” Mrs Talley’s patience is clearly wearing thin. “I _am_ listening to you, but, to be honest, I’m not really convinced by what you’re telling me.”

“ _What_?”

“I’m just saying that you don’t _look_ sick,” Mrs Talley says, her voice absolutely fucking dripping with condescension. “And that this sounds suspiciously like the kind of excuse I’d expect from someone who hasn’t actually done the work.”

“For _fuck’s_ sake!” Connor yells suddenly, and there’s a clattering noise from inside the classroom that sounds suspiciously like he might have just kicked a chair over.

“Right, that is _not_ acceptable, Connor!” Mrs Talley’s shouting too, now. “You _will_ do this presentation today, and-”

“Yeah, no way,” Connor spits out. Then he throws the door open, letting it slam hard against the wall, and storms out of the classroom. If he sees Jared and Evan loitering by the door, he doesn’t acknowledge them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mrs Talley exclaims, following close behind.

“I’m going to the nurse, and I’m going _home_ ,” Connor says. He doesn’t look back at Mrs Talley.

“Then you’ll just have to do the presentation next week.”

“Then I just won’t come back to school, I don’t _care_!”

Then a door further down the hall opens and Mr Bradshaw, another of the English teachers, comes hurrying out.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, sidestepping into the middle of the hall and holding his hands up to intercept Connor. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m _trying_ to go home because I’m not doing this fucking presentation, and _she_ won’t let me!” Connor shouts, gesturing wildly in Mrs Talley’s direction.

“Okay,” Mr Bradshaw says, perfectly calm despite the fact that Connor totally just dropped an f-bomb right in front of him. “Okay. How about you come along and talk to me about this? Hm? Is that alright?”

Mr Bradshaw was Jared’s English teacher in ninth grade, and he’s one of those young, super chilled out teachers who never seems to get mad at anyone ever - Jared can’t remember him raising his voice once throughout the whole of freshman year. So perhaps it’s not all that shocking how he’s forgoing the screaming match in the hallway in favor of slowly approaching Connor and gently placing both hands on his shoulders in an almost parental kind of gesture. What _is_ surprising is the fact that in response, Connor calms down a little almost immediately, tense posture giving way like he’s suddenly deflating, and, with a small nod, he lets Mr Bradshaw guide him into his classroom.

As soon as the door closes behind the two of them, Evan lets out a helpless little dry sob.

“ _Shit_ ,” he says, hiding his face in his hands.

Jared doesn’t really know what to say. “That’s rough, bro” is a little bit too casual. Anything else would be so uncharacteristically nice coming from him that it would almost sound disingenuous. So instead he settles for a comforting pat on the shoulder, and tries very hard to ignore how he can feel Evan trembling under his touch.

Evan then insists that he wants to be alone until class starts, probably so he can go off and hide in a corner mumbling through his presentation again. Jared figures it’s probably best to indulge him, and instead spends the last few minutes before first period sitting in the computer lab, ostensibly working on a history paper but really just staring blankly at the screen and typing ten words every time he manages to stop thinking about Evan or Connor. Which isn’t often.

When he gets back to Mrs Talley’s classroom shortly after the warning bell, Evan is among the handful of students already seated. He seems totally detached from his surroundings, thumbing absently at a stack of notecards that seems to have increased in size from the last time Jared saw it and biting at a bit of dead skin on his lip. He doesn’t even really notice Jared coming over to stand by his desk.

“How are you feeling?” Jared says.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Evan says, his voice quiet and strained. “Sorry.”

“Hey. You’re gonna smash it, dude,” Jared whispers back, giving Evan another pat on the back for good measure before he goes to sit down. He doesn’t need to look back at Evan to know the poor guy’s not remotely convinced.

A couple of minutes into class, when Mrs Talley’s in the middle of her standard pre-presentation spiel on Being Good Listeners and Respecting Our Peers, Connor walks in, looking considerably smaller and more withdrawn than he did thirty minutes ago. He’s staring resolutely at the floor as he makes his way to his seat near the back of the room, his hair hiding his face almost entirely, and when Jared tries to flash a supportive grin at him he doesn’t react.

He’s not sure what to make of the fact that Mrs Talley doesn’t call Connor out for being late in the wake of the whole shitstorm before class.

The first few presentations are totally unremarkable, Jared’s totally preoccupied mental state notwithstanding. He sort of attempts to pay attention, but approximately twice a minute he finds himself drifting away from the latest half-baked analysis of Jay Gatsby As Metaphor For The American Dream, and staring across the classroom instead.

Connor looks like he’s mentally checked out entirely, gazing blankly out of the window with bloodshot, bleary eyes that could easily be the result of either tears or weed, and absentmindedly flicking at his spinner ring. Evan, on the other hand, gets visibly more frazzled with every name that’s called out, alternating between reading through his notes and biting his nails with such persistent ferocity that Jared’s convinced he’s going to draw blood if his turn doesn’t come sometime soon.

He finally gets called up sixth, at the exact halfway point of the period, and if _Jared_ was Evan he thinks he’d feel kind of reassured by getting to present at such a forgettable point in the proceedings. However, Evan, _actually_ being Evan, just blanches, fingers finally darting away from his mouth to tighten around the stack of notecards in his hand. It takes him a while to even get up. As he walks, it looks like he’s wading through quicksand.

When he finally gets to the front of the class, he just looks out at the sea of faces in front of him, eyes so wide Jared can practically peer right into his brain and pick apart every terrified thought that’s tangled up in there.

He attempts to flash another supportive grin in his direction, but it looks like for all the staring Evan’s doing he’s not actually taking anything in.

“Right. Evan’s going to be presenting to us on…” Mrs Talley casts her eyes over her computer monitor. “Daisy Buchanan, is that right?”

Evan nods with the approximate speed and intensity of a bobblehead caught in an 8.5 magnitude earthquake.

“Great. Whenever you’re ready.”

He nods again, and clears his throat.

In response, the room falls into an oppressive silence around Evan, like all the sound’s been physically sucked out. He stands there almost totally still, right ankle twitching slightly like he really wants to shift his weight onto it but is terrified to make any sort of movement that could possibly draw any further attention to himself. Mrs Talley stares him down, poised to take notes.

“Um,” Evan manages to say after several excruciating seconds.

There’s a small ripple of noise across the room, somewhere between uncomfortable shuffling in seats and hesitant, nervous laughter. The corners of Evan’s mouth jerk upward slightly as if he’s trying to join in.

“Um,” he says again, a little higher pitched, a little shakier.

“Take your time,” Mrs Talley murmurs.

Evan nods gratefully, taking a deep breath. This time he actually clears his throat, which draws a faint snort of laughter from somewhere at the back of the room.

“Um,” he says. “Um…”

He fumbles with the notecards, apparently trying to get a closer look at what he’s written, and one of them slips out of the stack and goes fluttering to the ground. There’s yet another vague rustle of activity, a couple of rows away from Jared this time, and Mrs Talley holds up one hand to silence whoever’s responsible.

At the same time, Evan stares at the notecard on the ground in horror, completely frozen save for his increasingly labored breath and the tears now visibly welling up in his eyes. He swallows back a couple of gasps for air, making hideous gulping noises that, sticking out against the stark silence of the rest of the room, sound almost like suppressed retching.

It looks like he goes to say “um” again but his mouth won’t even form that one syllable.

The first tear spills over and rolls down his cheek.

Evan lets his hands go limp, the remaining notecards slipping out of his grip.

He shakes his head.

And he turns and bolts.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jared hisses, but it’s lost among the immediate flurry of noise and activity that follows the door slamming behind Evan. Their classmates are stuck in a solid 50/50 divide between sympathy and hysterical laughter. He fidgets in his seat, trying to figure out how subtly he can slip out in pursuit, if it’s even _worth_ it because at the speed that Evan was going he’s probably halfway across the school by now, and when he catches sight of Connor across the room _he_ looks like he’s about to puke and, shit, he’s got to be up pretty soon himself and what if Jared ends up missing a second, even worse disaster because he was busy running after Evan?

Well. It would be hard to get much worse than that. Even just objectively, but _especially_ in Evan’s mind. So Connor will just have to go it alone.

Jared looks around, makes sure nobody’s paying attention to him, and he goes to move.

“Okay, okay. Settle down,” Mrs Talley says, just as Jared starts to edge out of his seat. “Right. Rebecca, can you come up and present next, please?”

He’s missed his chance.

Evan doesn’t return to class, and when Jared texts Connor (who, strangely, didn’t actually give a presentation of his own after all) to ask if Evan made it to their shared history class he just gets a _no_ in response. By the start of lunch, when Jared’s latest text to Evan ( _Are you alright???? Wanna just chill somewhere quiet??_ ) remains unanswered, he has to assume that the poor guy was so freaked out by the presentation catastrophe that he literally had to go home.

Which sucks, including for the completely selfish reason that recently Jared’s defaulted to sitting with Evan at lunch pretty much every single day and now he’s going to have to figure out a new plan at the last minute for the second time in one week.

He’s standing in the cafeteria, tray in hand, trying to scope out where any of his other sort-of friends might be lurking, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Heya, Jared!”

That particular aggressively cheerful voice belongs to Alex Dane, a senior Jared does Model UN with who is so consistently and indiscriminately nice to everyone that something about the greeting already feels like a little bit of a pity gesture. Jared also has a sneaking suspicion that Alex might be the mystery guy who apparently invited _Connor_ to Model UN, because that’s exactly the sort of “I genuinely want to befriend every freak in this high school” move he’d pull, and he’s not sure if he should be more mad at Alex for asking in the first place or for not doing enough to convince Connor to come along.

“Hey, man,” Jared says, drawing the “hey” out with a weird forced laugh.

“I was just going to go sit with some of the other Model UN guys,” Alex says, inclining his head in the direction of a table to his left. “Do you wanna join?”

It’s not the absolute worst seating situation, and Jared’s pretty sure that at this point he’s not going to get any other offers, so he lets Alex lead him over.

He slides into a seat on the corner of the table, opposite Alex and next to Drew Morris, another member of Jared’s extensive list of people he’s mostly chill with but who don’t _really_ count as friends. After briefly pausing to say hello, Drew launches back into what sounds like the second act of a highly involved story about some sort of rock-climbing related comedy of errors, and Jared’s quickly able to slip into the conversation, laughing along at all the right points, even chucking in a few interjections of his own. A few minutes in, it starts to feel like any average, totally uneventful day.

So, naturally, it’s too good to be true.

“Hey, Jared, you’re in Evan Hansen’s English class, right?” Matt Holtzer interrupts all of a sudden, leaning across the table with a conspiratorial smirk on his face.

Oh, Jesus.

“Yeah, I am.” Jared doesn’t even attempt to sound polite. “What’s it to you?”

“Oh my God, Matt, can you shut up about this already?” Alex hisses. It’s probably the rudest Jared has ever heard him be to another human being.

“So is it true he completely freaked during a presentation earlier?” Matt continues, totally oblivious to Alex glaring daggers at him. “I heard he was like, staring into space and just going _um, um, um, um_ all over again and then he just ran out? Like, what the fuck?”

Then he bursts out laughing, a couple of other guys at the table joining in with stammered _um, um, um_ ’s of their own.

It’s a painfully accurate set of impersonations, to be fair, and admittedly it’s probably the kind of shit Jared would pull himself. But he’d do it, like, as part of an affectionate ribbing directed at Evan several weeks or even _months_ down the line, not delivered to a bunch of his other friends literally three hours after the incident.

Not when he could tell how fucking scared Evan was.

“Grow up,” Jared snaps, making sure to sound as scathing as possible.

Then, ignoring Matt’s protestations of “Hey, chill out, dude, I’m just fucking around!”, he pushes his tray away from him, gets up, and walks out of the cafeteria.

It’s only when he’s already left that he realizes he left pretty much his entire lunch untouched in his effort to make a quick exit.

He also realizes, a little too late, that he’s just narrowed down his potential options for lunch hour seating even further. And he’s not about to go back for his second lonely computer lab session in one day.

Somewhat reluctantly, because he’s not really sure how it will go down considering what he witnessed earlier, he pulls out his phone and texts Connor.

 **Jared:** _Hey where are you_

He’s pleasantly surprised to get an answer within 30 seconds.

 **Connor:** _why_

 **Jared:** _I wanted to hang out? Is that cool?_

Jared watches Connor’s typing bubble appear, disappear and reappear several times in quick succession before he finally replies.

 **Connor:** _im behind the gym_

Makes sense. The shady, poorly maintained courtyard behind the gym is yet another area of the school where people only really go if they’re trying to do something against the rules without being noticed, so of _course_ it’s another of Connor’s regular haunts.

When Jared gets to the courtyard Connor’s sitting on the ground with his back against the wall of the gym, attention alternating between the massive book in his lap and another little tupperware container of salad on the floor next to him.

“Hey,” Jared says, settling down next to him.

“Hi.” Connor carefully dog-ears the corner of the page he’s reached and sets the book down.

“What _is_ that, by the way?” Jared says. “The fucking dictionary?”

Connor rolls his eyes, letting out a huff of air that’s somewhere between a laugh and a totally judgy sigh. Then he inclines the book ever so slightly in Jared’s direction so he can see the cover.

“ _Anna Karenina_ ,” Jared reads out. “No offense, dude, but it looks dry as shit.”

Connor shrugs. “This part is, to be fair. It’s just talking about different Russian farming practices.”

Jared lets out an exaggerated groan, and Connor hastily adds, “The main plot’s really good, though. Seriously.”

Jared makes a little surprised-slash-impressed “Hm” noise. Then, in the absence of any other conversation topics, he says, “Okay. Favorite character. Go.”

Connor scoffs as if Jared’s just asked the easiest question in the world. “Anna. For sure.”

“ _Basic_ ,” Jared snorts.

“Oh, come on, I bet you couldn’t even _name_ any of the other characters,” Connor says, and his mouth twitches upward in that same utterly frustrating smirk he shot at Jared over lunch a few weeks back.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Jared retorts, gleefully taking the bait. He playfully pushes Connor’s shoulder, and Connor rolls his eyes. “That’s because I’m actually too _cool_ to read books the size of my own freaking head.”

“You’re a total idiot, is what you are,” Connor says.

They’re interrupted mid-debate by Jared’s stomach producing an absolutely thunderous growl.

“Oh my God, are you _good_?” Connor says, punctuating the question with a peal of incredulous laughter that sends the now-ravenous butterflies in Jared’s stomach into a frenzy.

“Crap, yeah,” Jared says. “Just. I tried to make a dramatic exit from the cafeteria earlier, and my lunch is now tragically missing in action.”

“Oh.” Connor bites his lip. “Well, uh-”

He puts down _Anna Karenina_ and starts rooting through his bag, eventually pulling out a second, smaller tupperware box containing a single chocolate chip cookie.

“You can have this?” he says, not actually looking at Jared. “If you want?”

The sight of Connor freaking Murphy, angry rebel stoner boy extraordinaire, sitting there hiding out in the school’s designated Delinquency Corner and tentatively holding out a carefully packaged baked good is so utterly incongruous that Jared is, like, _this_ close to asking if it’s an edible.

“My mom made a whole batch last night,” Connor clarifies, as if he read Jared’s mind. “I’m not really hungry, so. You can have it.”

Jared hesitates for a second, a semi-conscious decision not to look too enthusiastic that’s pretty quickly outweighed by just how fucking hungry he is, and then takes the cookie from its container. Connor puts the tupperware on the ground between them and returns to his book as Jared goes to eat, although he’s totally transparently glancing back at him out of the corner of his eye, anxious for approval.

The cookie isn’t necessarily _unpleasant_ , per se, but something about the texture and taste is a little unlike anything Jared’s had before, and the effort of trying to place exactly what’s _off_ about it puts a small frown on his face. Connor clearly sees him looking confused.

“Sorry, they’re vegan,” he says sheepishly. “That’s why they’re sort of-”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me you were vegan?” Jared interrupts, feeling a new sense of frustration at Connor’s refusal to tell him literally _anything_ when it’s remotely relevant. “Great, now I feel like an asshole for letting my dad force feed you eggplant parm last week.”

“Oh my God, it’s fine, _I’m_ not vegan. I don’t give a shit,” Connor says. “Just, my mom’s Buddhist at the moment, so. No animal products in the house, I guess.”

He punctuates the sentence with a distinctly long-suffering sigh.

Jared narrows his eyes in confusion. “She’s only Buddhist... at the moment? Is that a _thing_?”

“It is if you’re my mom.” Connor’s voice is suddenly flat, a whole lot quieter than it was a few seconds ago, like he’s kind of reluctant to keep talking but he feels obligated to. “She sort of does that. Gets into different things, I mean. Buddhism. Pilates. The Secret. Scentsy. Shit like that.”

“Huh.” Jared tries to sound as neutral as possible.

“She means well,” Connor adds hastily. “It’s just… a lot to keep up with.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

The conversation grinds to a halt. Connor keeps reading, and Jared finishes off his weird vegan cookie. For a minute or so, the only sound around them is that of indistinct, distant chatter from elsewhere in the school, like a white noise machine or the faint roar of a faraway waterfall, accompanied occasionally by the sound of a page turning, or by intermittent chirps of birdsong from way up above the two of them. It’s weirdly blissful, considering the reality of their totally unremarkable surroundings.

“Do you know if Evan’s alright?” Connor says all of a sudden.

Jared sighs. “Nope. I haven’t heard from him since his… Jesus Christ, I can’t even really call it a presentation, can I?”

“Oh.” Connor’s face falls. “Well, um. If you see him, can you tell him… I don’t know. That I’m sorry that happened, I guess?”

Jared’s been getting the impression for a while now that Connor’s assertion that he ‘wasn’t nice’ was at least, like, 45% bullshit, but something about hearing him actually, actively care about another person, however awkwardly, completely yanks at his heartstrings.

“Yeah. Of course. I’ll let him know,” Jared says. “By the way, what happened to _your_ presentation?”

“What?” There’s an unmistakable caginess to Connor’s voice.

“You didn’t do one?” Jared prompts.

“Oh. Yeah.” Connor scuffs one foot on the ground uncomfortably. “I wasn’t feeling too good this morning, I guess. So, I talked to Mrs Talley and she let me get out of it.”

Jared shakes his head in disbelief.

“Okay, no. Don’t bullshit me, dude. Full disclosure?” He shuffles around so he’s actually facing Connor. “Me and Evan heard you fighting with Mrs Talley about it this morning.”

Connor stiffens.

“And? What’s it to you?”

“Well, first off, I thought she was being totally out of line and I wanted to check that everything was, like, cool on your end? But also, and don’t go and take this the wrong way because I’m not mad at _you_ , this isn’t _your_ fault, the whole freaking reason Evan had to go up there in the first place was because he was too scared to ask to sit out because he heard Mrs Talley being an asshole to you. And she seemed pretty dead set on forcing you to present. So, like, what changed?”

“Does it really matter?” Connor’s eyes remain fixed on his book, but he’s obviously not taking anything in anymore.

“Did Bradshaw say something to her?” Jared pauses for a second as Connor finally looks up at him with a stony expression. “Yeah, I saw you talking to him too.”

Connor shrugs, an undercurrent of tension still running through his entire body. “Yeah. Okay. Sure, he talked to Mrs Talley about it.”

“What did he even _say_?” Jared lets himself laugh, somewhere between impressed and disbelieving and ‘I’m not trying to be confrontational please don’t freak out at me’.

“It really doesn’t matter. Drop it.”

“Chill, I’m just curious,” Jared says. “Like, what the crap could he have _possibly_ said or done to make her suddenly take pity on-”

“ _P_ _lease_ , can you just leave it, alright?” Connor snaps, slamming his book shut and tossing it to the ground so he can whirl around to face Jared, face contorted in an ugly, angry snarl. “You don’t have to know every fucking detail of my life!”

“Okay, okay.” Jared turns away from Connor, trying very hard to ignore the sudden sick, burning feeling of dread and regret rising up in his chest. “I’m _sorry_. I was just... worried.”

“Well, _don’t_ be, okay? I don’t need you to fucking - worry about me, or _pity_ me, or whatever.”

“Okay, I don’t get why you’re so _mad_ at me all of a sudden,” Jared says, raising his own voice out of pure exasperation.

“I’m not _mad_ at you!” Connor shouts. Then he takes a deep breath. When he speaks again, he’s considerably calmer. Quieter. More withdrawn. The anger vanishes from his face too, but Jared can’t quite identify what emotion replaces it. “I just… I just want to be alone for a bit, okay?”

“Okay.” There’s another  _sorry_ in the back of Jared’s throat somewhere, but he can’t quite force it out into the open.

Connor scrambles to get up, stuffing his book and both tupperware containers back into his messenger bag.

“Seriously. I’m not mad,” he adds, with the strained tone of someone who is trying very hard not to be mad, as he slings his bag over one shoulder. “I get it. Just. I don’t want to talk about it. If it’s all the same to you.”

He’s already nearly out of the courtyard by the time Jared hears himself blurting out, “Hey, wait up!”

Connor turns around, staring him down with an expression that’s suddenly more tired than anything else.

“See you in Chemistry?” Jared adds, daring to let a little bit of hope creep into his voice.

Connor shrugs. Then he offers Jared a small, wan smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.

“Sure. I’ll see you in Chemistry.”

Without another word, he turns and goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for reading & shoutout to @evol_love and @phonecallfromgod for all their help & support!! special shoutout to rachel evol_love this week for providing me w vital knowledge on the great gatsby because i decided to include this plotpoint despite never having read it lmao
> 
> (ps comments and shit are literally Always appreciated)
> 
> follow me on tumblr @coniello for all your dubious theatre opinion needs xo


	8. Chapter 8

Evan is considerably more fragile than usual in the days that follow the English presentation disaster. Which is saying something. He comes back to school on Monday pale and shaky, probably only turning up in the first place as a result of several encouraging (albeit outright untrue) texts from Jared assuring him that nobody’s been talking about how he basically looked and sounded like he was about to have a brain aneurysm in front of Mrs Talley’s entire eleventh grade English class on Friday.

Unfortunately, it becomes pretty much immediately apparent that Jared has been spouting pure bullshit all weekend, because it turns out that a solid proportion of the student body have spent _their_ weekends perfecting distressingly accurate impersonations of Evan’s public speaking efforts that they just can’t _wait_ to demonstrate to the guy himself. There’s even rumors of a fucking Evan Hansen Challenge circulating among the more popular kids on Snapchat.

So all this means that before first period, Jared has already had to talk Evan down from a near breakdown in the bathroom. Which was not fucking easy, for the record.

“Do you need to go home or something?” Jared asks, as Evan sniffles into a scrunched-up ball of toilet paper.

“No, no. I’ll be fine,” Evan says, plastering a totally unconvincing smile on his face. “I mean, everyone’s already seen me in school so they, I guess it’ll just be worse if I, if I leave now, or whatever.”

Jared’s not totally sure he gets Evan’s logic, but he’s also confident that arguing with him at this point will just make the poor guy start crying all over again, so he decides it’s probably best to just leave it.

Later that day, Connor joins them for lunch for the first time in over a week. Evan initially seems distraught at the prospect of interacting with yet another witness of the Incident, but Connor tactfully avoids the subject entirely, instead probing him with what are clearly meant to be diversionary questions about their US History homework.

Then Rebecca Martin, a girl in their English class who might as well be the freaking patron saint of high school bullying as far as Jared’s concerned, comes up to their table.

“Hi, Evan. Jared. Connor.” Her eyes linger on Connor for a little too long. “I just wanted to talk to Evan about something, if that’s alright?”

“Oh, um, okay?” Evan squeaks, moving to get up. “Where do you, uh-”

“No, it’s fine, we can talk here,” Rebecca says, shooting a sugary smile at him. Then she pauses, thoughtfully raising one finger to her chin. “Just let me think about what I was going to say.” Her voice suddenly shoots up an octave. “ _Um, um, um_ -”

“Can you fuck _off_?” Connor says all of a sudden, standing up to stare Rebecca directly in the face. Jared suddenly remembers why so many people are absolutely fucking terrified of him.

To her credit, Rebecca, apparently largely unfazed, just rolls her eyes.

“Learn to take a joke, _jeez_ ,” she mutters, before stalking off in the direction of a group of her friends who were clearly watching - and greatly enjoying  - the scene from afar.

Evan slumps down in his seat a little, blinking a little too forcefully.

“Are you good?” Connor asks as he sits back down.

“Come on, dude, please don’t start crying on me again,” Jared adds.

“I think I want to be alone,” Evan mumbles, his voice thick. Then he stands up, shaking his head a little (more at himself than anyone else, it feels like), and runs out of the cafeteria.

Jared looks up just in time to see the occupants of Rebecca’s table dissolve into hysterical laughter.

“Is he going to be okay?” Connor murmurs, as the lunchroom’s double doors swing shut behind Evan.

Jared sighs. “I don’t know.”

Tuesday and Wednesday are pretty much more of the same, with the exception that Evan tries even harder to avoid any and all unnecessary human contact. He apparently even resorts to eating his lunch in the practically abandoned bathrooms by the nurse’s office on both days, a fact which Jared only figures out because Alana Beck comes up to him before Chemistry on Wednesday to let him know that she saw Evan in that vicinity when she was running an errand for her math teacher. (Jared asks her why she’s telling him this, and she replies with, “Oh, well, I just know you two are friends, and I figured you’d be looking out for him at the moment.” Which is a sentence which directs a fucking dagger of guilt straight into his heart.)

On Tuesday, Mrs Talley goes around their English class handing out feedback sheets for their presentations (Jared gets a B+ and a reminder to think about The Appropriateness Of What We Say In A Classroom Setting), and when she pauses by Evan’s desk Jared cranes his ears enough to make out something about “coming to talk to me later about a way to make up the assignment”. He decides to look in the other direction entirely when she gets to Connor because, true to his word, Connor doesn’t _actually_ seem pissed off at him for prying about his presentation situation on Friday, but he’s not going to push his luck.

On Wednesday during Spanish class, Mrs Linares asks Evan a question in front of the whole class, and he freezes, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land gasping for breath. Jared hears people getting restless as they wait for an answer and decides to save the day by leaping in, even though he sucks at Spanish so he gets the answer sort of wrong and earns himself a chiding about Not Interrupting and Thinking Before You Answer, but the mild embarrassment of being called out pales in comparison to the relief he feels when Evan looks across and mouths “Thank you” in his direction.

Thursday is Evan’s birthday, because of course the kid can’t catch a break and his own fucking birthday has to fall in the middle of what is probably one of the worst weeks of his life to date. In an attempt to be a halfway decent friend and cheer him up a bit, Jared skips third period to drive over to the Dairy Queen back near his house and buy Evan a celebratory Blizzard, and it’s sort of lukewarm and melty by the time he delivers it to him at the start of lunch but Evan still hugs Jared and thanks him, like, twenty times in a row. They sit in Jared’s car for the whole lunch period, because Evan’s still sort of scared of the cafeteria after the Rebecca incident and it also means no one will pick up on their contraband food and drink, and by the time they have to head back in for fourth period Evan appears to have perked up considerably.

So even though it’s been an emotionally weird week, it’s still incredibly alarming when Jared excuses himself half an hour into tutoring to pick up a video call from Evan and the poor guy instantly starts full on _bawling_ down the phone.

“Shit, shit, shit, okay, give me a second,” Jared says, panic shooting through his body like an electric shock, and he pokes his head back through his bedroom door to tell Connor that there’s clearly been some sort of crisis and that he might be a while. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t know who else to talk to,” Evan wails, as Jared half jogs down the stairs.

“Okay, dude, you’re starting to freak me out.”

“It’s really stupid.”

“I don’t care, _spill_ ,” Jared says, flopping face-first onto the sofa in the family room downstairs.

“It’s just, oh my God it’s so stupid,” Evan says, wiping his eyes and sniffling in an ineffectual attempt to calm down enough to actually speak. “But, my mom had the day off for my birthday and, and we were going to go out for dinner and, I don’t know, I think she had something else planned as a surprise maybe but it doesn’t even _matter_ because she, her work just called and, and I guess _everyone’s_ called in sick and now she’s had to go in and cover their shifts and so we can’t do dinner and she’s not going to be home all evening and now I’m just, I’m, why does everything keep going _wrong_?”

Evan covers his face with the hand that’s not holding his phone, his whole body shaking with pained sobs.

 _Fuck_.

Jared would probably be the first to admit he’s not always the best at being a good friend, but right now all he knows is that he has to at least fucking try.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says in what he hopes is a vaguely comforting tone, forming half-baked ideas in his brain as he speaks. “Give me, like... an hour, okay? Just. Stay there.”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do,” Evan says, utterly pathetically.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re breaking my heart here, Evan. Just hold on, okay? Bye.”

Jared sprints back upstairs and throws his bedroom door back open with such force that it makes Connor (who’s apparently abandoned math in his absence in favor of continuing to work his way through _Anna Karenina_ ) jump.

“Okay, math’s cancelled for the day, we’re on a mission, get up.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Connor says, although he immediately starts packing his shit up anyway.

“Emergency birthday party.”

Connor blanches. “I really - I don’t do parties-”

“Okay, well, by _party_ I mean it’s me, and you, and pizza and cheap snacks and shitty movies at Evan’s house. Don’t worry, I’m not dragging you to a fucking kegger at 4.30pm."

“Will Evan even _want_ me there?” Connor asks as he gets up.

“Yeah, totally,” Jared says, patting him on the shoulder. “He thinks you’re really cool.”

He doesn’t add that Connor still probably wouldn’t be Evan’s first choice Murphy to invite to his birthday party, but, to be fair, it’s not like he can just call Zoe and ask her to come over and eat pizza with her weird awkward acquaintance from pottery class, so Connor will have to do.

“Oh. Alright,” Connor says. There’s a small, stunned look on his face, like he’s totally unused to the concept of someone thinking he’s really cool.

If only he knew.

“Okay, so I’m thinking first stop, Party City,” Jared says as they get into his car a couple of minutes later. “Then there’s a Meijer like, practically next door so we can grab some snacks and shit. And then we head back to Evan’s. Sound good?”

“Wait, uh, do we need to get presents as well?” Connor asks, excruciatingly sincere.

Jared is suddenly struck by the image of Connor, four or six or eight years old, standing at the edge of a room while all the other kids run around laughing and shouting, awkwardly scuffing his feet on the ground and clutching a brightly-colored, carefully wrapped gift. It’s so unexpectedly, heartrendingly adorable that he can’t help but laugh.

“Why are you laughing at me?” Connor says, a barely-concealed undercurrent of distress in his delivery.

“Oh my God, no,” Jared says, forcing himself to calm down. “You’re all good, that’s just. Wow. I don’t think I’ve brought a birthday present to a party in _years_. Next you’ll be asking Evan for a freaking goodie bag.”

He doesn’t actually ever remember going to a birthday party with Connor, now he thinks about it. It has to have happened, he reckons, sometime way back in elementary school when it was still the custom to invite your whole class regardless of whether or not you actually liked them. Shit, he probably at least invited Connor to one of his _own_ birthday parties. It’s probably just so long ago that it’s a struggle to reconcile the moody seventeen year old staring at him anxiously from the passenger seat with any memories of a little kid who probably laughed more than, like, once a week and actually dressed in colors other than gray and black.

“I thought that’s what people did,” Connor says dejectedly.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I thought it was _very_ …” Cute? Sweet? Endearing? “...Nice of you to think about that.”

Connor doesn’t respond, having reverted to the relative safety of playing with his rings, but the corner of his mouth twitches a little in what might almost be a smile.

After ten minutes of driving in silence, they pull into the parking lot of the shopping center that houses the Party City.

“Right. I want to go all out here,” Jared says. “I want Evan to feel like he’s on, like, _My Super Sweet 16_ , or whatever.”

“Isn’t he turning seventeen?”

“ _Work_ with me, Connor,” Jared says with a deeply performative sigh. As they walk towards the store, he elaborates on his plan. “So I’m talking balloons, streamers, we should ask them literally how quickly they can possibly produce a personalized set of banners with pictures of Evan’s face on them…”

“I really hope you’re kidding,” Connor says.

“Not in the slightest,” Jared says, shooting a smug little ‘I know exactly what I’m looking for here’ nod at an employee standing by the door as they walk in. “Okay. I’m sort of kidding about the custom banners, but everything else is a _must_.”

Just as he’s in the middle of a further rant about just how many confetti poppers is an appropriate number for three people (“Come _on,_ what’s better than confetti?!” he says to an increasingly skeptical-looking Connor), something catches his eye.

“Follow me,” he says very seriously, and marches off in the direction of the kids’ themed birthday decorations. Not before grabbing six confetti poppers off the shelf, though, obviously.

“Oh, God,” Connor mutters.

“Look,” Jared says, eyeing up a set of paper plates adorned with Minions. “I just think that if I’m going to blow my whole allowance on the most elaborate birthday party the world has ever seen, I might as well have some fun with it.”

“I guess,” Connor says, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

“So, what do you think?” Jared says. “We could go with these little guys, they’ve got, shit, Batman, Five Nights at Freddy’s-” (Connor interjects at this point with a resounding “No.”) “- Or. No. _This_ is _right_ up Evan’s alley.”

“ _Paw Patrol_?” Connor whines, as Jared throws a pack of paper cups into their cart.

“Oh, come on, Connor. What could possibly be more quintessentially Evan Hansen than a gang of hardworking, earnest puppies engaging in public service? It’s _perfect_.”

“...I don’t really have a choice here, do I?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Once they’re settled on a theme (or, rather, once Jared has decided on a theme and forcefully imposed it), the task of actually picking decorations turns out to be pretty easy. There’s only one minor blip when Connor has to almost physically _drag_ Jared away from a _Paw Patrol_ photo booth kit (“We don’t _have_ a photobooth!” “We can _improvise_!” “No!”). But otherwise, the experience of shopping for party supplies with Connor Murphy, which sounds like it should be a sentence in a game of Mad Libs gone horribly wrong, proves surprisingly enjoyable.

“Should we get him, like… a card, or something?” Connor asks as they head in the direction of the checkouts.

“I guess.” Jared shrugs. “I don’t know, I haven’t really done birthday cards for years.”

“I just thought, if we’re not doing presents…” Connor fidgets uncomfortably, bringing back to mind visions of a shy little kid at a birthday party he was only invited to out of obligation.

Jared rolls his eyes. “Okay, _fine_. We’ll get him a card. God, you are just freaking adorable sometimes.”

The words come out before he can stop them, and Jared freezes as Connor turns to look at him with an expression that’s somehow everything and nothing all at once.

“I - uh,” Jared stammers. “You know what I mean.”

Connor just stares at the floor, adjusting his bangs so they cover his face entirely.

“I think the cards are over this way,” he says after several seconds, gesturing vaguely off to one side of the store.

It couldn’t be a more obvious signal that Connor wants this particular thread of the conversation to _end_ , and frankly, Jared’s in total agreement there.

Surprisingly enough, it’s only at this point in proceedings that their party planning hits a snag.

“Aw, shit. They don’t have any seventeenth birthday cards,” says Jared, gazing in dismay upon the totally nonexistent gap between 16 and 18 on the shelf.

“Does it _need_ to say seventeen?” Connor says, absentmindedly thumbing through another display a few rows down. “I think he knows how old he is.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot I was talking to the connoisseur of birthday festivities.”

Connor shakes his head in exasperation.

“Also,” Jared adds, flapping a ‘To My Wonderful Grandson On Your Bar Mitzvah' card in Connor’s face for emphasis. “Don’t underestimate just how much Evan Hansen lives in a freaking dream world. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that he has literally forgotten his own age.”

“This is ridiculous,” says Connor after several more minutes of searching. “They’ve got graduation cards, in _March_. But not a fucking seventeenth birthday card?”

“Give that here?” Jared gestures towards the card Connor’s brandishing.

Connor looks confused, but hands it over regardless. Jared pores over the cover of the card, cogs and gears whirring in his brain.

“It’s perfect,” he says eventually.

“What? It’s not even a _birthday_ -”

“Shh.” Jared holds up one hand. “Listen, Connor. You may be an expert on birthday etiquette, but sometimes it’s best to leave things to the amateurs.”

With that, he heads back towards the checkouts, throwing in a quick “I’ve always wanted to do this” that he hopes will strike sufficient fear into Connor’s heart as he goes.

After making all their Party City purchases (the cashier tells the two of them that it’s very sweet that they’re buying supplies for their younger sibling’s birthday, and for a split second Connor looks like he might somehow implode and explode simultaneously), they head off to buy snacks, which proves to be a considerably easier and less entertaining job. They return to Jared’s car, weighed down with food and decorations, with fifteen minutes to spare before his self-imposed hour deadline to get back to Evan’s house.

“Do you have a Sharpie?” Jared says, rooting around in one of the Party City bags in search of the graduation card.

“Why the fuck would I have a sharpie?” Connor says.

“Okay, just give me _any_ type of pen. I left all my school shit at home.”

“Fine,” Connor mutters, and after a few seconds of rummaging in his messenger bag, produces a ballpoint pen. It will have to do.

“Awesome. Don’t distract me, now, I’m creating a masterpiece.”

Jared pulls the card out of its plastic sleeve and rests it against the steering wheel. Then he takes the pen from Connor and, directly underneath the “Congrats On Your Graduation!” tagline, he adds “from being 16”.

Connor lets out a loud, totally ungraceful snort of laughter.

“You’re _ridiculous_ ,” he says.

“Hey. I will _not_ see my art criticized like that,” Jared says, smacking Connor with the card for good measure.

It turns out that not only is the _front_ of the card totally inappropriate for the occasion, but the inside contains an entire freaking poem about wisdom and different educations and standing tall because you have history _and_ the future on your shoulders, which doesn’t even really make any sense to start with, let alone once Jared has worked some magic with Connor’s pen and transformed it into an utterly incoherent birthday ode. Once he’s satisfied with his creation, he signs his name - _absolutely no love whatsoever from Jared_ \- and passes the card over to Connor.

“Okay. Your turn.”

Writing way slower - and probably a little larger - than necessary, Connor painstakingly signs his name as neatly as possible.

_and Connor_

“Sweet,” Jared says, trying not to think about how it actually _is_ very sweet that Connor put in the extra effort to improve upon his regular untidy scrawl for the sake of Evan’s shitty not-even-technically-a-birthday card. “Okay. Let’s get ready to fucking party.”

Jared goes to back out of their parking space, but, after barely moving a foot, he slams on the brake.

“What are you _doing_?” Connor exclaims.

Jared shushes him, fishing his phone out of his pocket and plugging it into the aux cord.

“The party don’t start ‘till we walk in,” he says, way too smugly, as _Tik Tok_ by Kesha starts blaring through the speakers.

“No. _No_ way,” Connor protests.

“Tough shit. Driver picks the music, them’s the rules,” Jared says, and he puts the car back in reverse, but not before turning the volume up to drown out Connor’s continued grumbling.

They pull up outside Evan’s house ten minutes, and three songs on Jared’s Cheesy Pop playlist, later. Connor, who has been complaining that it is “literally fucking Thursday” for the past three of those ten minutes, seems very relieved when Jared turns off the ignition, shutting up Rebecca Black with it.

“Right, we’re gonna shout ‘surprise’ and confetti him as _soon_ as he answers the door. Really get this party started,” Jared whispers as he hands Connor a confetti popper, even though there is no reason to be whispering when they are in Evan’s driveway and Evan is probably still weeping in his bedroom. Totally unexpectedly, Connor, who is maybe tired out from complaining on and off with varying levels of irony for the past hour, just nods in agreement.

They head up to Evan’s front door and, on Jared’s signal, which again is completely unnecessary because he’s the one doing everything, he rings the doorbell.

There’s a few seconds of excruciating silence before a key clicks in the door and the door opens to reveal Evan, wide-eyed and looking, amazingly, like he’s maybe not actually cried for about half an hour.

“Surprise!” Jared and Connor both shout at the same time. A spray of confetti hits Evan in the face.

He stares at Jared and Connor for a second before his bottom lip starts trembling. Before Jared can say literally anything else, Evan starts sobbing again.

“Oh fuck, did we do something wrong?” Connor blurts out. Jared suspects there’s an implicit _I told you to chill on the fucking Paw Patrol_ directed at him in there somewhere.

“No. No, oh my God I’m just…” Evan gestures helplessly.

“Oh my God, dude, this was meant to make you _stop_ crying,” Jared says.

“Yeah, no, no, I know,” Evan manages to get out in between various forceful gulps and sniffs. “I’m just… you really didn’t have to do this. Thank you _so much_.”

And, reaching out his arms, he pulls Jared into a hug.

Jared squirms out of the embrace after a couple of seconds, acutely aware of how awkward Connor must feel standing there like a third wheel all of a sudden. Not that he thinks Connor is _remotely_ a hug kind of person, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Hey,” he says, patting Evan on the arm. “Dry those eyes with one of our bespoke napkins-” he inclines his head towards Connor, who dutifully pulls a packet out of the Party City bag he’s clutching and hands it to Evan - “and let’s celebrate.”

“ _Paw Patrol_? Really?” Evan says, looking at the napkins in a state of total bewilderment.

“Kleinman and Murphy Party Planning, Inc. is _not_ open to constructive criticism,” Jared says, and prods Evan back into his own living room.

After taking _way_ too long to decorate the room, because Jared has a strong Artistic Vision that he refuses to see compromised by the uncultured likes of Evan and Connor, they go to sit down. Connor immediately curls up in the armchair on the other side of the room, even though there’s a perfectly good couch that could definitely fit all three of them if they squeezed up, and Jared throws himself down next to Evan.

“What do you want to do, by the way?” Jared says, draping his legs over Evan’s lap for no reason other than to be an asshole. “I was thinking we just, like, order pizza, watch some terrible movies, something like that? But it’s _your_ birthday, bro.”

“Oh,” Evan says, looking at Jared’s legs with a combination of confusion and what looks like suppressed blinding rage. “I, uh, I really don’t mind. That sounds like a good idea, actually.”

“Do you _actually_ think that’s a good idea, or are you just saying it’s a good idea because you’re too awkward to contradict me?”

“No, no, not at all.” Evan shakes his head. “I think that sounds really fun. For sure.”

“Great. Awesome,” Jared says.

“Also, can you get off my legs, please?”

“Sure thing.”

Then Evan goes to open his card - “Don’t worry, this one’s not _Paw Patrol_ ,” Jared says, neglecting to mention that the actual content of the card is arguably even worse - and Jared gets his phone out to google “worst movies on netflix”. He manages to work out a decent enough shortlist while Evan tries (and fails) to glean any possible meaning from Jared’s terrible graduation-slash-birthday poem.

“Thanks for signing it too, Connor,” Evan says, as Jared weighs up the relative strong points of the Sharknado saga versus the fifth installment of the Friday the 13th franchise.

“Oh?” Connor looks up with an expression of vague surprise, like he’s somehow forgotten he signed Evan’s birthday card, like, an hour ago. “Yeah. Anytime.”

He smiles shyly at Evan, and Evan beams back at him.

They then get onto the task of ordering pizza, which turns out to be yet another source of bonding material for Evan and Connor because, apparently, they’re both absolute heathens who enjoy pineapple on pizza and agree to go halves on their food. Jared attempts to convert Connor to the merits of his patented Vegetarian Hell Pizza (every vegetarian topping, _except_ pineapple, on one pizza; he gave up trying to explain its appeal to Evan a long time ago), but to no avail.

“So let me get this straight, having a fucking _fruit_ on your pizza is acceptable, but mixing and matching a few different vegetables _isn’t_?” Jared says despairingly.

“You’re oversimplifying,” Connor says, picking idly at his nail polish as if the debate is entirely beneath him. “Pineapple works on pizza because it’s, like, a contrast between sweet and savory, right? Vegetarian Hell Pizza just sort of sounds overcomplicated.”

“See?! Connor gets it!” Evan exclaims uncharacteristically loudly, and Connor stops fidgeting for a second in order to reach across to the sofa and give him a high five.

“You two disgust me,” Jared mutters.

While they’re waiting for their pizza to arrive, they settle down with a movie about zombie beavers. Jared gets his kicks from saying “ _Damn_ ” with far too much enthusiasm every time something remotely interesting happens, a joke which carries him until about 40 minutes in when Connor finally loses patience and throws a cushion at his head.

The pizza gets there, and Evan and Connor insist that Jared answers the door to the delivery guy while wearing a _Paw Patrol_ party hat, and the delivery guy straight up deadpans “Nice hat” to him and Jared hears Evan and Connor dissolve into absolute hysterics from across the room. When he sits back down and gets the movie going again, he risks one more “damn” joke, which prompts such a loud groan from Connor that Jared feels _very_ grateful that all the cushions are now on _his_ side of the room.

Midway through their second movie, an absolute cinematic masterpiece about an avalanche that unearths flesh-eating snow sharks, Connor’s phone buzzes.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he mutters, and slips into the kitchen, answering the call as he goes. “Zoe? Yeah, no, I’m fine? I’m totally fine, I’m at Evan’s house. _Yes_ , Evan Hansen’s house, unless you know another fucking Evan. Because it’s his birthday? Yeah, I guess, I don’t know, why does it matter? Wait, what? Yeah. Sure, I guess? No, it’s _fine_ , I’ll get a ride home. And I don’t _know_ when I’ll be home but I’m _fine_ so please tell mom she doesn’t have to freak out. What? Oh, fuck. Well I’m _not_ still fucking grounded, that was last week, so he’s just being a fucking asshole. Yeah, no, I’m _not_ coming home just because he tells me to because I’m _not fucking grounded_. I’ll be back later, it doesn’t matter. Yeah, sure. Yeah, I already _said_ I’d tell Evan, calm down. Sure. Okay. Bye.”

Then he walks back into the living room and settles down in the armchair again.

“Zoe says happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh. Wow. Thanks,” Evan whispers, an awed smile growing across his face. For a split second, it looks like he’s so happy that he’s ascended to a whole other plane of existence, totally separate to Jared or Connor or the _Birthday Boy_ banner draped around his shoulders or the terrible CGI sharks flopping around in pursuit of hot college students on the TV. Then, in a voice closer to his usual combination of clumsy babbling and randomly placed squeaks, he adds, “I mean, tell Zoe that I said thanks? But thank you for telling me, too, that she said that.”

Connor eyes him steadily for a few seconds.

“Yeah. Sure,” he says eventually. His expression is totally unreadable.

Connor’s quieter for the rest of the evening, picking at the toppings on his last few slices of pizza and only occasionally contributing to the conversation. Jared suspects it’s not because he’s utterly engrossed in the gripping plotline of _Avalanche Sharks_ or any of the other abysmal B-movies they delve into over the next few hours.

At about 11 o’clock, Evan sheepishly admits that he’s feeling sort of tired and considering it’s a school day tomorrow they should maybe call it a night.

“My mom will be back in an hour or so, anyway,” he says, pausing to yawn mid sentence. “And I think that maybe it would be better if she didn’t come home to a _Paw Patrol_ shrine.”

This, at least, startles a small huff of laughter out of Connor.

Jared and Connor help Evan pack up all the decorations and stack the pizza boxes up for recycling. Nobody really talks, other than when Jared double checks that Connor wants a ride home (Connor just nods before disappearing into the kitchen to stow away the leftover snacks), but the air feels so rich with that strange, quasi-melancholic post-party feeling that Jared doesn’t question it. Especially not when Evan, close as he seems to keeling over fast asleep at any second, is still smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you,” Evan says again as Jared and Connor are heading out the door. “Again. For everything. You’re… you’re really good friends.”

“Anytime, bro,” Jared says, pulling Evan into a one-armed hug. “Okay, see you tomorrow. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite, or whatever.”

He glances back at Connor out of the corner of his eye, hoping for another roll of the eyes or muttered ‘you’re ridiculous’ or whatever, but he gets nothing.

They walk back to Jared’s car in silence.

“I hope your dad doesn’t get too mad at you for being out late again,” Jared says as he pulls out of Evan’s street.

Connor shrugs.

They’re silent again for a couple of minutes.

“Evan likes Zoe,” Connor says bluntly out of absolutely nowhere, and it takes everything Jared has in him not to wrap his car around the nearest lamppost.

“I guess?” he says instead, trying very hard to sound like this might, possibly, be news to him.

“Is that why you keep hanging out with me?”

“ _What_?” Jared is, frankly, not in the mood for another of Connor’s paranoid spirals.

“I don’t know,” Connor snaps. “You think that, what, if Evan’s friends with me then it will be easier for him to get with my sister? Is that it, is that why you invited me over there in the first place?”

“Okay, I’m pulling over, because you’re being ridiculous,” Jared says.

“I’m _not_ being ridiculous.”

“Yes, you _are_ ,” Jared says as he stops the car.

“No, I totally get it. Come on. Why else would you-”

“Dude,” Jared interrupts, briefly forgetting he’s in a tiny car and throwing his arms out in frustration so forcefully that he almost smacks Connor in the face. “First off, _when_ have I ever even talked to you about Zoe? Don’t you think, if this was all some scheme to get intel about her, I’d have, like, bombarded you with questions about, I don’t know, her favorite bands or what... perfume she wears, or some shit?”

Connor looks like he might possibly be considering this as a valid argument.

“And besides,” Jared adds. “I know Evan. He’s both _way_ too nice, and _way_ too stupid, to even consider engaging in some grand deception for the sole purpose of boning your sister.”

“Please don’t say ‘boning’ in relation to my sister,” Connor says, a little calmer already.

“Noted. But the point is, me tutoring you, or hanging out with you, or inviting you over for Evan’s birthday has _nothing_ to do with Evan’s dumb crush. It’s entirely on me, because I think you’re actually an alright person, you know, and I wish you’d just fucking _trust_ me on that.”

Connor squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his fists over and over. When he finally speaks after what must have been thirty seconds of quiet, his voice feels precarious, fragile, like he’s teetering on the edge of a pit filled with God knows how many different emotions.

“Okay. I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jared sighs, even though part of him can’t help but be annoyed at this whole sudden outburst, just when it felt like they were really, truly getting along.

“I just-”

Connor cuts himself off.

“You’re just what?”

Connor shakes his head, staring out of the passenger side window with sad, tired eyes.

“I guess I’m still just looking for proof that this is all a joke,” he says, so quietly it almost feels like he’s talking to himself, like Jared’s eavesdropping on something private and totally, horribly vulnerable.

And then Connor looks across at him, eyebrows furrowed in the tiniest anxious frown.

For a moment, Jared considers revealing everything. Taking Connor’s hand, letting their fingers intertwine, and then leaning across, cupping Connor’s face with his spare hand, and kissing him slowly and gently until the glow of the streetlamps above them fills both their hearts as well. Then pulling back, waiting until the ghost of a smile traces its way across Connor’s lips, and saying to him, in a voice so gentle it almost feels too special and sacred to use, ‘If it’s all a joke, then why would I do that?’

But he doesn’t. He can’t. Not now, not yet. Maybe not ever.

So instead he puts one hand on Connor’s shoulder, which in itself feels so terrifyingly intimate that he can’t believe his other plan was ever even a vague option in the back of his mind.

“Hey,” he says, grinning warmly. “Why the fuck would I hang out with you, some weirdo who reads boring books and hates my taste in music and criticizes my brilliant party decoration concepts, unless I actually liked you?”

Connor pauses, biting his lip. For a few seconds, the only movement in the car is that of his right leg bouncing frenetically.

Then, almost inaudibly, he murmurs, “I guess.”

Jared dares give Connor’s shoulder what he hopes is a comforting squeeze. Then he puts his hands in his lap, trying to ignore how the hand that was just touching Connor feels like he actually just doused it in water and shoved it into a power outlet, and fixes his eyes on the steering wheel. He doesn’t dare look back across.

“Wait,” Connor says a moment later. “Your _taste_ in music? You were playing that shit _unironically_?”

“Okay. You’d better watch yourself, or as soon as I start driving again I _will_ subject you to Kesha’s entire discography and you _will_ just have to suck it up and tolerate it.”

Because Jared sort of wants to be a dick to Connor, and in the hopes that it will sort of undercut the emotional tension that’s still stretching through the car like taut spiderwebs, he pulls up Spotify on his phone and puts the first all-Kesha playlist he finds on shuffle.

“ _Really_?” Connor groans as the strains of _We R Who We R_ begin pumping through the speakers.

As they pull up in Connor’s driveway ten minutes later, the playlist shuffles to a quieter song.

“I hope you had an okay time tonight,” Jared says over gentle, strumming guitar. “Regardless of. I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “I did. We’re all good.”

He smiles softly. It’s still an expression that doesn’t _quite_ feel like it fits him, like a little kid trying on grownups’ clothes and awkwardly shuffling out into the hall in too-big shoes in search of approval. But Jared wishes he'd try it out more often.

“See you at school tomorrow,” he adds, swinging his legs around and clambering out of the car. Then he closes the door, and turns and walks up the path to his house.

Jared watches him go for a few seconds before putting the car in reverse and driving away, letting the music spill over him as it reaches a crescendo.

 _While everyone else is running and screaming_  
_I just love being with you_  
_I guess they don’t see all the things that I’m seeing_ _  
That make you so uniquely you, you, you, you_

_What do you get when you meet Godzilla and fall in love?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for reading!! shoutouts go, as ever, to @evol_love and @phonecallfromgod for their help and support
> 
> and i guess an extra thanks to kesha for the conman bop? the name of the track is "godzilla" if you don't know it & want to check it out, would recommend it's a very cute little song
> 
> comments and the like are always appreciated and welcomed! and check me out on tumblr @coniello, it's a fun time


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back babey :)

After their weird sort of Deep Meaningful Conversation after Evan’s birthday party, it feels like something has finally shifted between Jared and Connor. Connor is still _Connor_ , of course, so it’s not like he’s suddenly loudly proclaiming Jared to be his best friend or choreographing their secret handshake or bounding up to him for spontaneous hugs in the hallway, or whatever. But it feels like something has changed, nonetheless. Like, the next day, he comes and sits with Jared at lunch without either of them having to ask, and, when prompted, he tells Jared and Evan about his day so far with what probably counts as actual _enthusiasm_ by his standards. He even sticks around once he’s finished working through his awful Tupperware salad _du jour_ , which is totally unprecedented, and accepts Jared’s proposition that they walk to Chemistry together without any grumbling or cryptic mood swings.

When they get to the lab, it quickly becomes apparent that the still ongoing Maddie vs. Adam saga, which is trying the patience and eardrums of pretty much everyone in the school at this point, has taken yet _another_ turn for the melodramatic. Which is to say, they’re screaming at each other for no apparent reason again. At earsplitting volume. Right in front of the desk that Jared shares with Maddie.

Jesus Christ.

“Probably no one would notice if you just worked with me and Alana today,” Connor murmurs. And then, because he is still _Connor_ , after all, he adds, “I mean. Only if you want to, I guess.”

Grateful as he is for the offer, Jared ends up very politely turning Connor down, because he really does not need to give Maddie and Adam any possible reason to make him collateral damage in their latest quest to treat the Chemistry lab like it’s the set of fucking _Maury_. But even Connor’s unexpectedly polite and calm response to _that_ is a pretty sure sign that somehow, in some way that Jared can’t quite pinpoint, their friendship has levelled up at last.

(Later during class, as Maddie takes it upon herself to explain to Adam in an alarming amount of detail exactly _where_ he can stick that test tube he’s holding, Jared gets a text from Connor that reads _hows it going over there war correspondent kleinman?_ , and he’s forced to explain away his subsequent thunderous snort as the result of a lingering cold when Maddie whips around to ask him what _exactly_ is so funny.)

Over the weekend, Jared even takes the plunge and actually texts _Connor_ asking for help with his English homework. He’d normally ask Evan, because Evan is both insanely good at English and way too nice to ever turn down Jared’s requests for help, but he kind of figures that the guy could do with a bit of a break after the totally intense week he’s had. And he also figures that considering Connor is taking two separate English classes this semester, on top of seemingly spending half his life with his nose in a book, he’ll probably be a decent source of knowledge when it comes to analysis of poetic devices. However, it turns out that, although he’s initially very happy to lend a hand, Connor does _not_ share Jared’s natural skill for the art of teaching. After one too many occasions on which Jared asks for clarification and Connor shoots back something totally unhelpful along the lines of _idk how to explain this it just makes sense like that right?_ , Jared decides he’ll just pretend he knows what’s going on and resign himself to an inevitable C on this particular assignment.

But he can’t pretend he’s not grateful for the extra hour of conversation his efforts brought him.

The start of the next week verges on unseasonably cold for March, and Jared finds Connor waiting outside school for tutoring on Tuesday totally bundled up in a heavy jacket, scarf, beanie, and gloves. The whole effect is unbelievably endearing, like Connor’s a little kid who’s been wrapped up warm by his mom.

“Hey, is Connor Murphy hiding under these literally five hundred layers?” Jared says. He considers teasingly pulling the scarf down a little to reveal Connor’s nose and mouth, but thankfully his two remaining brain cells who _don’t_ devote their entire time to being a gay disaster manage to dissuade him.

“Fuck off,” Connor says, although it’s sort of muffled coming from underneath the scarf. “I get cold easily.”

Jared can’t help but let out a splutter of laughter.

“And it’s fucking freezing out here,” Connor continues. “So it would be _really_ great if you’d stop laughing at me and let me get in your car.”

That day’s tutoring session isn’t anything remarkable, save for Connor’s consistently more friendly demeanour. He sits down in Jared’s armchair as always, tossing his scarf, hat, and jacket over the back (Jared needs to take a second to compose himself in the face of Connor’s hat hair), pulls out some work that he can’t quite wrap his head around, makes some snarky self-deprecating comment. He listens patiently while Jared tries to explain today’s math concept, occasionally cutting in with a “Wait, no, what the fuck?” or a “But that doesn’t make any _sense_ ”. He gets onto his homework questions, and it takes him a while to really get into the swing of things, but after a couple of hours he seems considerably more confident about tackling the ins and outs of circle geometry.

“ _Fuck_!” Connor exclaims all of a sudden, swiping half his belongings off his desk like he’s a fucking cat.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, dude?” Jared says. He tries very hard not to sound like he’s panicking at the sudden outburst.

“I just realized I’m - I have a thing,” Connor says, now on his knees shoving the shit from the desk into his bag. “And I’m running late for it, so. I have to go.”

“Oh. Well, if you need me to give you a ride then that’s totally-”

“ _No_ ,” Connor snaps, a little too forcefully. When he speaks again, though, it’s considerably more reasoned. “No, it’s fine, it’s not actually - I can walk. It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay.” Jared can’t ignore how Connor’s sudden freneticism is stressing him out a little. “Are you all good on the math, though?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Connor shoots Jared one of his trademark slightly uncomfortable, ‘I haven’t smiled properly in years and now my facial muscles aren’t totally sure what to do’ smiles. “Thanks. Sorry I’m just sort of-”

“No, no, it’s all good. Have fun at your… thing?”

Connor lets out what sounds like a vague huff of laughter. “Thanks. I’ll try.”

Then he darts out of Jared’s room, throwing a quick and surprisingly peppy “See you tomorrow!” back in his wake.

Jared listens to the sound of frantic footsteps thundering down the stairs, followed by the sound of the front door slamming. The silence that follows feels like the aftermath of a sudden storm.

Jared takes a couple of minutes to collect himself, and then, with a sigh directed at nobody in particular, moves to get started on his _own_ homework for the day.

Half an hour later, he’s gotten absolutely nothing done. For whatever reason, whether it’s the sudden slip back into cozy sweater weather or a result of the emotional stress of interacting with an increasingly friendly Connor for two hours, Jared’s brain literally just does _not_ want to work today. At all. And he’s had a near flawless track record with homework so far this semester, so he’s pretty sure his Econ and Spanish teachers will forgive him for one slip-up. So Jared shuts his textbooks, throws himself backwards onto his bed and pulls up every single social media app that requires less than 75% brainpower.

He chats with his camp friends on Facebook for a while, but it still feels like their lives are all infinitely more interesting than his, for better or for worse, and it starts to just sort of bum him out after a while and he leaps at the opportunity to skip out of the conversation as soon as his parents call him down for dinner. After dinner he showers, even though he already showered this morning, and he tries to think about Spanish grammar while he washes his hair, with absolutely zero success, and when he gets out of the shower he just gets back into bed and scrolls idly on his phone for the next few hours.

At around ten thirty, having completely exhausted the interesting functions of literally every app on his phone, Jared finally finds himself resorting to the utterly uninteresting parts. Somewhere around the quick add section of his Snapchat, a place where probably only the most desperately bored have ever dared to tread, something makes him pause.

 _connor_ (cmurphy1030)

He doesn’t know another Connor Murphy. He’s not _totally_ confident, but he has some vague lingering suspicion that Connor’s birthday is sometime in October, which would explain the numbers. And the all lowercase name is suspiciously onbrand as well.

If it _is_ a different Connor, Jared doesn’t really have anything to lose. A quick _Sorry thought you were someone else LOL_ message, and this brief entertaining diversion in his mind-numbingly boring Tuesday evening is over, wrapped up tightly in a little bow, and he never has to think about it again. And if it’s the right Connor, then. Well. Hopefully Jared’s been reading the situation right for the past few days and they _are_ good enough friends now to make an unexpected Close Encounter Of The Snapchat Kind socially acceptable.

With a performative little shrug that’s really completely pointless considering the only over occupant of his room is a comatose Spaghetti, Jared adds the semi-mysterious cmurphy1030.

Five minutes of anxiously pacing around his room later, he gets a text.

 **Connor:** _did you just add me on snapchat_

Bingo.

 **Jared:** _Yeah you came up in my suggested friends. Is that a problem?_

He realizes that sounds a bit confrontational, so adds:

 **Jared:** _Like is it cool that I added you_

 **Connor:** _i guess_

 **Jared:** _I’m gonna send you so many videos of my cat bro you have no idea_

 **Connor:** _!!_

That last message is so unexpected, and so utterly unlike anything Connor has said or done to date, that Jared’s heart does a little _!!_ of its own.

To really get the point across, he quickly snaps a picture of Spaghetti, who is now stretched out across the foot of his bed, and sends it to Connor (caption: _She’s so fucking long_ ).

Connor replies a couple of minutes later with an extremely blurry picture of what is, presumably, his ceiling, captioned _i love her_.

It turns out that seeing the word _love_ coming out of Connor Murphy’s phone keyboard is way too much for Jared to cope with, so he shoots back a quick _Hell yeah! She’s also sleepy like me tho goodnight dude_ message, turns Do Not Disturb on, and flops back into bed with the blankets pulled right over his head.

He lies there for another two hours without falling asleep, his heart jolting him awake with another excited, electric _!!_ every time he’s almost about to drift off.

* * *

When Jared is getting ready for school the next morning, he catches sight of Connor’s scarf still draped over the back of the armchair. For one horrible and deeply disconcerting second, some weird fucking demon in his brain tells him to _sniff_ it or something, like he’s some kind of creepy stalker. But he quickly manages to stop _that_ particular thought in its tracks. Instead, figuring that he might as well roll with this new communication method that the universe so generously bestowed upon him last night, he wraps the scarf around himself until it’s concealing most of his face, pulls up Snapchat, takes a quick selfie (caption: _Meet me by the main entrance before school if you want this baby back_ ), and sends it to Connor.

He then puts his phone on airplane mode.

When he gets to school he’s immediately intercepted by Evan, who’s been in far better spirits ever since his birthday party.

“Hey,” he says, with an exceptionally weird breathless giggle that strongly suggests he’s been thinking about Zoe Murphy within the past ten minutes or so. “Can I ask you something? What are you doing on - wait. It’s not _today_ Wednesday, or next Wednesday, or the one after that, but... the one after _that_ , in the evening? That Wednesday?”

Jared pauses for a second to try and calibrate whatever the fuck Evan just said with his mental calendar. To no avail.

“... _What_?” he says eventually.

“Sorry.” Evan shakes his head vigorously. “It’s just that, um, so Zoe just invited me to, on Facebook, she invited me to the Jazz Band’s spring concert, a few weeks from now? And I obviously, I, um, really want to go but my mom’s _always_ working Wednesday nights so she won’t be able to take me but I don’t really want to get the bus and I think it’s going to finish kind of late for me to walk back afterwards so I was sort of, of course you don’t have to if it’s inconvenient for you but, I was kind of wondering if you’d be able to drive me?"

“I mean, maybe,” Jared says with a shrug. Sure, he may have done band himself back in middle school, but high school music is completely _not_ his scene now, especially not if he’s literally only throwing away a perfectly good Wednesday night to be Evan’s wingman.

“Also, you never know, if Zoe’s performing then maybe… maybe Connor might be there?” Evan adds.

For fuck’s sake. For someone so apparently clueless about everything, Evan sure has a surprisingly effective manipulative streak.

“Okay, _sure_ , you got me,” Jared groans. “What time is it? And what _actual_ date?”

“Wait, I’ll invite you to the event, give me a second.” Evan says, fishing in his pocket.

“You’re literally standing right next to me, you _could_ just show me on your phone,” Jared grumbles, but he switches his phone off airplane mode anyway.

Almost immediately, the screen lights up with a notification.

 **_SNAPCHAT  
_ ** _from connor_

“You have Connor on _Snapchat_ now?!” Evan hisses, sounding utterly scandalized.

“Oh my _God_ , Evan, you don’t have to sound like such a freaking moral guardian about it, we’re not exactly sending each other _nudes_ or-”

Jared opens up the Snapchat, and his ability to talk abandons him at probably the worst possible moment in the context of that sentence.

Connor has sent him a fucking _selfie_.

 _Not_ a nude one. To clarify.

But it’s a selfie nonetheless. A slightly blurry picture of him sitting in the backseat of a car, glancing awkwardly to one side, frustratingly floppy bangs just skimming the top of his right eye. The caption reads _okay On my way!_ , like Connor panicked for some reason and sent the Snapchat before he had time to notice or grapple with that pesky iPhone autocorrect. And even though it looks like Connor has maybe taken, like, three selfies in his life judging by the quality of the photography, it’s still abundantly clear that he looks _really_ fucking good.

So, naturally, at that precise moment Jared’s fingers go into some sort of freakish spasm and, before he can stop himself, he takes a screenshot.

He thinks the bright white flash of his phone screen might be burned into his retinas for all eternity.

“You know he’ll get a notification for that, right?” Evan pipes up, totally unhelpfully.

“I literally _require_ you to mercy kill me right this second.”

After thirty seconds of respectful silence in the face of Jared’s imminent demise, Evan jolts back to his previous train of thought and finishes sending him the Facebook event for the jazz band concert (it turns out Jared is definitely free that Wednesday, and he can’t quite figure out if he should be disappointed or strangely relieved). He then makes himself scarce, babbling something about needing to go print off a homework assignment before first period, and Jared is left standing alone in the hall until Connor gets to school.

When he finally arrives, it’s with Zoe in tow, and Jared suddenly realizes that he can’t actually remember the last time he saw the Murphy siblings together.

“Hey,” Jared says with a stiff laugh, praying that Connor won’t bring up the screenshot.

“Hi.” Connor stops a few feet away from Jared, just far away enough for it to be a little weird. _Shit_. “You have my scarf, right?”

“I sure do.” Jared shrugs his backpack off his shoulders. “Here.”

He pulls the scarf out of his backpack and, then, because apparently his hands have taken it upon themselves to declare independence from his brain in a violent revolution wherein the only casualty is Jared’s romantic prospects, carefully loops it around Connor’s neck himself.

“There,” he says, patting the ends of the scarf down against Connor’s chest even as his brain screams _What the fuck do you think you’re doing you absolute imbecile!!!!_ at full volume. “Now you’re not going to get frostbite any time soon.”

“Great. Thanks,” Connor says, in a strangled tone of voice that makes Jared wonder if he tied the scarf too tight.

Then he glances to one side to see Zoe staring at them both incredulously.

“I have to go and put my guitar away,” she says, after a few seconds of what feels like carefully calculated awkward silence. “See you around, Jared. Bye, Connor.”

“Bye,” Connor murmurs.

“Hey, how was your thing yesterday?” Jared asks as soon as Zoe's disappeared.

“My… oh. That.” Connor shakes his head a little, shrugs his shoulders. “It was fine, I guess.”

“What was it?”

“Nothing. It wasn’t anything interesting. Just a… a family… thing.”

Connor Murphy, as it turns out, is not a very good liar. But when Jared considers prodding him further he just starts thinking about that near bust-up they had over Connor’s missing English presentation the other week and, Jesus Christ, they’ve come way too far since then for Jared to just screw everything up again by being nosy.

So he just says “Fair enough.” And then, to really get across that he’s not going to pry, he adds, “I just hope you weren’t too cold separated from that scarf of yours.”

Connor chuckles softly, sending another _!!_ straight through Jared’s chest.

“Yeah, no, I lived. Thanks for giving it back, though,” he says, fingering the fringe of the scarf.

“No worries, dude. It’s not like I was just going to _keep_ it.” _Or sniff it. Or sleep with it under my pillow. Or anything like that. Holy fucking shit could that get any creepier._

“Anyway.” Connor clears his throat. “I um. I have to go and do something. Before class. So I’ll, uh. See you in English?” Another hesitant smile in Jared’s direction.

“Yeah. See you in English.”

As Connor walks away, Jared pulls his phone back out and Googles _Does snapchat always notify for screenshots_. Followed by _Can snapchat screenshots be platonic_. Followed by _I screenshotted my crush’s selfie but he didn’t say anything about it is this good or am I fucked_ , but that last one doesn’t pull up any helpful results at all.

The rest of the week passes without incident until, on Sunday, Jared’s mom insists on dragging him to the mall. It initially starts out as a “the seasons are changing, you need a new wardrobe!” sort of situation, but it quickly becomes clear that it’s definitely a lingering aftershock of his parents’ continued totally transparent attempts to Spend More Time With Him and Make Him Feel Loved after that spectacular coming out / meltdown combo last month. That, and his mom really wants to go to Pottery Barn.

Whatever the motivation, though, shopping isn’t exactly Jared’s idea of a fun time. Sure, he could maybe browse a Gamestop or whatever for half an hour without getting bored, and Party City with Connor the other week was pretty enjoyable, but that was only because he had the freedom to screw around a little, and he was trying to pull off a big gesture for a friend, and he was… well, with _Connor_ . But plodding around the mall for hours on end, while his mom alternates between browsing overpriced home decor and handing him graphic t-shirts that fall so neatly on the exact midpoint between cool and uncool that Jared can’t really get away with wearing them ironically _or_ unironically? No thanks.

Not to mention going to the mall on the weekend always carries with it the risk of bumping into people from school that Jared really can’t be bothered bumping into. He’s not quite as bad as, say, _Evan_ in that regard. Like, he probably wouldn’t pull off some utterly convoluted stunt of cramming himself into a display closet or something in the back corner of Pottery Barn just because he caught sight of Adam or Maddie or Rebecca shopping for lampshades. But it’s exhausting, sometimes, having to keep on putting up the same old freaking front even on what should be a day off, just in case he gets caught.

But his mom asks super nicely and even offers to take him out to lunch, and Jared could probably do with a couple of new shirts if he’s being totally honest, so he agrees to the outing without being too much of a brat about it. And it’s not even too bad. His mom doesn’t spend too long choosing between throw pillows in barely distinguishable shades of green. She notices that Jared is getting bored after a couple of hours, and they break up the day by grabbing lunch at a pretty decent Chinese restaurant (Jared’s fortune cookie advises him “Don’t mistake temptation for opportunity”, which he really could have done with being told before he pulled that dumbass stunt with the scarf on Wednesday). And she even offers Jared near-total freedom when it comes to picking out clothes after lunch, although she does sometimes interrupt his browsing to let him know that this flannel she found would _really_ bring out his eyes and make him look _so_ handsome, by which she of _course_ means even more handsome than usual. Which is maybe a bit much, but it’s not, like, unpleasant.

An hour or so after lunch, Jared is happily perusing the graphic t-shirt section of H&M when, out of absolutely nowhere, his mom slaps him on the shoulder.

“Ow! What the _crap_ , mom?!”

“Is that Connor?” Jared’s mom raises her voice, waving aggressively like she’s trying to help a freaking plane land. “It _is_! Heya, Connor!”

Jared whirls around, fifty fucking emergency sirens going off in his brain at once, and yep, there’s Connor fucking Murphy himself, standing there frozen helplessly as Jared’s mom makes a beeline for him.

As Jared follows in hot pursuit, spluttering out various incoherent sentence fragments along the lines of “Mom, _stop_ ” and “Oh my God no don’t embarrass me like this”, a woman around his mom’s age emerges from behind another display, clinging onto an array of shirts in various very un-Connor-like colors, and places one protective hand on Connor’s upper arm.

Fuck.

Jared thought Connor and his dad were total opposites, but holy shit, he and his mom are like night and day. Like, the fact that there’s practically no physical resemblance to speak of isn’t even _half_ of it. In complete contrast to how Connor looks like he got dressed in a freaking mosh pit before stumbling out into the hellscape of his local mall on three hours of sleep, his mom is possibly the single most put-together person Jared has ever seen in his life. She’s all kitted out in delicate, elegant neutrals, painstakingly accessorized, not a hair out of place, and she’s standing there with the vague but palpable discomfort of someone for whom H&M is like, three tiers below their regular clothing store price bracket.

But somehow Connor looks totally comfortable around her, in a way he didn’t around his dad.

Well. Jared _thinks_ Connor looks sort of more comfortable, but it’s admittedly hard to tell considering he’s currently looking at _Jared’s_ mom in abject horror.

“Oh. Hi, um-” Connor pauses, clearly mentally flipping through 30 different possible terms of address. He finally settles on a second “Hi.”

“Hey, man,” Jared says, hoping his practised casual vibe will somewhat offset the awkwardness of the situation. “Wow. You actually shop somewhere that’s not Hot Topic?”

“Get lost,” Connor scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Who’s this, Connor?” Connor’s mom says, squeezing his shoulder. It looks like she’s not totally sure if she should be welcoming or hostile.

Connor just smiles uncomfortably in response, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like “It’s fine, mom.”

“Sorry, we haven’t met,” Jared’s mom says, reaching out for a handshake. “I’m Bea - I’m Jared’s mom.”

“Jared’s…” Connor’s mom looks momentarily perplexed. Like she’s heard the name before but can’t quite make the right connections.

“Jared’s my math tutor,” Connor mumbles after a couple of seconds of silence, flipping the collar of the shirt he’s holding up and down with one hand.

“Oh, of _course_!” Connor’s mom exclaims with an airy ‘rich person told a vaguely amusing joke over the appetizer of their five course meal’ laugh. “You know, Connor didn’t even tell us he _had_ a math tutor until a few weeks ago. Boys and their secrets, honestly!”

Connor stares at the ground. It sort of looks like he might be blushing. Which is totally understandable, given the whole ‘edgy emo teen caught hanging out with doting mom’ situation.

“But it sounds like they’ve really been getting along,” Connor’s mom continues. “And Connor did _so_ well on his latest quiz.”

Connor’s face is beginning to approach the hue of the neon-lit H&M sign above the entrance.

“I’m Cynthia, by the way,” Connor’s mom says, finally returning the handshake.

“Well, it’s so great to finally meet you,” Jared’s mom says. “You know, Connor’s a _really_ fantastic kid. We’ve all loved getting to know him a little over the past few weeks.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m _so_ happy to hear that,” Cynthia gushes, and she reaches forward to grasp Jared’s mom’s hand again, this time in gratitude. “I think Connor’s really been enjoying himself too. Haven’t you?”

She smiles warmly at Connor, who’s scuffing his feet against the floor so ferociously it looks like he’s trying to dig himself an escape tunnel. After a couple of seconds with no response, Cynthia redirects the smile towards Jared and his mom, as if to answer on Connor’s behalf.

“Maybe you should come over for dinner some time, Jared,” she continues. “We’d love to have you.”

Connor looks up all of a sudden, eyes bugging out of his head for a split second, and he winces and shakes his head frantically at Jared.

“Oh, I’m actually, like, _super_ busy at the moment,” Jared says, with an exaggeratedly apologetic tilt of the head. Connor shoots a quick grateful smile in his direction. “But uh, we’ll see!”

He finally takes a proper look at the shirt Connor is holding, a black short sleeve button-down decorated with - and this is so utterly out of character that Jared wonders if he accidentally picked it up in a panic or something - a yellow floral print.

“Nice shirt,” he says, in a last-ditch attempt at distraction.

“Oh.” Connor glances down at the shirt as if to remind himself what it looks like. “Thanks.”

“Well, Jared and I have got to get going now,” Jared’s mom says, even though Jared’s barely even had time to get a proper look at the clothing on offer. He can’t help but wonder if her Mom Radar picked up on Connor’s obvious discomfort with this whole situation. “But it was _so_ good to meet you, Cynthia. And it was lovely to see you too, Connor!”

Connor nods hastily.

“Bye, um, Mrs… Dr… Bea,” he chokes out.

Jared has to physically prod his mom towards the exit before he starts to actually burst into flames.

* * *

Connor is wearing the shirt at school the next day.

Jared wishes he’d at least had some form of warning, like a text, or another abysmally blurry Snapchat selfie, because it turns out that seeing Connor in an outfit that’s not totally black or gray for the first time in several years is _completely_ overwhelming. In a weird way, the contrast makes Connor sort of resemble one of those corny pictures of flowers growing out of cracks in the sidewalk that Jared’s guidance counsellor has plastered all over the walls of her office as some sort of inspirational “overcoming adversity” and “sticking out from the crowd” thing, but, like, a hot version. It’s still sort of cold out, so Connor’s paired the already unbelievably charming shirt with a freaking _cardigan_ , of all things, the sleeves of which are a little too long on him so he’s standing there outside the English classroom with honest to God sweater paws, and it looks like he’s chosen today for his monthly hair brushing as well, and, fuck, Jared _needs_ to think of something to do or say before it becomes totally obvious that he cannot. Stop. Fucking. Staring.

“Hey, the shirt from yesterday!” He manages to blurt out after several seconds too many, pointing in the vague direction of Connor’s torso like a complete idiot. Before he can stop himself, he adds, “It suits you.”

“Oh.” Connor’s eyes flicker downwards for just a millisecond, like he’s once again totally forgotten about this stupid shirt’s existence. He looks like he’s about to add another “Thanks”, but before he can even open his mouth, the two of them are rudely interrupted.

“Nice outfit,” says Rebecca Martin, sidling up to Connor and prodding him in the chest with one finger. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“Excuse me?” Connor says, the faintest hint of caution hiding behind his deliberately unbothered delivery.

“I _said_ , who are you trying to impress?”

“What, are you jealous, or something?” Connor deadpans. “Because I’m still gay.”

Jared is suddenly struck by the intense need to take a walk.

Rebecca rolls her eyes.

“For the last time, Connor, you’re not funny,” she says, as Jared desperately tries to mentally push himself back onto the correct plane of reality because did Connor really just say what he _thinks_ Connor just said?

“Oh, well, then, it’s a good thing I’m not joking right now.” Connor turns back towards Jared, clearly trying to shut Rebecca out of the conversation.

“No, but seriously. What do you think you’re trying to achieve with… this?” Rebecca says, gesturing up and down at Connor’s outfit like she’s a particularly vicious guest judge on Project Runway.

“It’s just a _shirt_ ,” Connor says, punctuating the sentence with a disdainful scoff. “Chill out.”

“It’s _pathetic_ , is what it is.” Rebecca raises her voice just enough for a handful of other kids milling around in the hallway to look over in curiosity. “You can try as hard as you want but it’s not like any girl’s ever going to _actually_ want you.”

Connor’s eyebrows twitch almost imperceptibly, a tenth of the way to a frown.

“Great, because that’s really a _huge_ problem for me,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Jared can see his posture getting stiffer, more tense.

“Oh my _God_ , well, okay, _no one’s_ ever going to want you,” Rebecca snaps, with so much sudden ferocity that Connor actually takes a step back. “Is that better? No. One. Will _ever_ want you, Connor. Because you can put on a nice shirt, or whatever, but everyone here already knows what you’re _really_ like.”

Jared feels strangely nauseous all of a sudden. He’s always known that people pick on Connor. He’d have to be an idiot to miss that. He’s heard all the stories, seen enough incidents from a safe distance to know that people just fucking _love_ tormenting Connor Murphy, that there’s an uncomfortably large contingent of their class that treat it like it’s some kind of fucking sport, like some sort of grotesquely calculated bullfight - _how can we make Connor Murphy freak out today_? _Bonus points if you provoke him into punching you, extra bonus points if he cries_. But he’s never experienced it like this, never really seen the pure vitriol and glee in the eyes of people like Rebecca as they try their hardest to intimidate Connor, never heard each carefully chosen cutting word spat out like pure venom. He’s never seen up close how Connor stiffens, his whole body seemingly struggling to choose between laughing it off or running or spiralling into a white-hot, blinding rage, or any number of other possible reactions that Jared’s brain won’t even let him dwell upon.

If he’d ended up witnessing something like this up close two months ago, when he didn’t _know_ Connor, when Connor was nothing more to him than a mysterious, weird, classmate who just happened to be vaguely physically attractive, when Jared had no _real_ emotional investment in this situation, he’d have joined in right about now. Taken Rebecca’s side, made a shitty crack at Connor’s expense, because it’s so much easier to stay on the good side of people who could probably, actually, ruin his life if they put the slightest amount of thought or effort into it than it is to stick his neck out when he has nothing to really gain.

And sure, maybe he has something to gain now, or maybe, even more importantly, he has so much to _lose_. But as his brain screams at him louder and louder to _say_ something, _do_ something, Jared realizes that the main thing motivating him isn’t even selfishness. Not now. It’s not just a matter of Connor hating him if he doesn’t do something. It’s not the fear of another blazing argument that urges him to speak up. He just genuinely, truly, _cares_.

And Jared’s not sure how long it’s been since he last let himself care like this.

“Get fucked, Rebecca,” he says before he can give it a second thought, a sudden rush of adrenaline hitting him like a freight train.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Rebecca laughs incredulously. “Oh my God, this is just typical. You’re sticking up for _Connor Murphy_? What, are you, like, _friends_ now or something?”

Connor glances across at Jared, eyes wide. The look only lasts for a second, truly blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. But it’s there, nonetheless.

“Yeah. We are,” Jared says, trying to sound as tough as he possibly can even though he knows he’s by far the least scary person in this situation.

For a moment, Rebecca looks like she doesn’t know how to respond.

Then she laughs again.

“Wow. _Wow_.” She shakes her head. “I guess you’re both as pathetic as each other, then.”

And she turns and stalks into the classroom, leaving Connor and Jared behind.

Connor shuts his eyes, drawing in a long, shaky breath. His lips are pressed tightly together like he’s trying to hold back a tidal wave of words and emotions.

“Hey. Are you good?” Jared says, quiet and cautious. He almost goes to touch Connor’s arm in a comforting gesture, but thinks better of it.

“Yeah,” Connor murmurs. His voice is practically expressionless. “Yeah. I’m fine. I think I’m just gonna. Go and be alone somewhere for a while. I’m fine, though, so.”

“Are you sure?”

Connor nods. “Yeah. I swear. I’m fine.”

Jared sighs, not totally convinced.

“Okay.” He turns to head into class, waving at Connor in a way that feels far too casual and unbothered given the circumstances. “Well, I’ll see you at lunch, right, so-”

“Wait - _Jared_.”

Jared freezes.

Now that he thinks about it, he can’t actually remember hearing Connor say his name before. He’s so filled to the brim with sentence fragments, accusatory _you_ statements, simultaneously too harsh _and_ too hesitant to ever seem comfortable addressing someone by name. Jared wishes he could bottle that sound, bottle the feeling of hearing his name from Connor’s lips, halting and hasty and surprisingly _soft_.

He turns around, closing the distance between himself and Connor again.

“What?”

“Did you mean that?” His voice sounds carefully restrained, like he’s trying very hard not to show any sort of emotion.

“Mean what?”

“Are we friends?”

The way Connor looks at him, wringing his hands together uncomfortably, blinking rapidly as his deep brown eyes flicker through emotions too numerous for Jared to even begin to identify, Jared finds himself thinking back to that mental image of Connor as an awkward, lonely little kid at a birthday party, holding out a present that he’s not sure the host will even accept.

“Dude, of _course_ we are," Jared says, hoping he sounds as sincere as he feels. "Of course we’re friends. I thought you knew that.”

Then he finally reaches out and pats Connor’s arm.

Silence falls for a second, feeling simultaneously as empty and as infinitely crowded as the whole fucking universe itself.

“Hey. So. What’s with the whole Rebecca thing, anyway?” Jared says after a moment, consciously adjusting his posture into something a little more ‘casual gossip’ than ‘heartfelt affirmation of friendship’.

“Oh. Jesus Christ.” The multitude of emotions in Connor’s eyes dissipate immediately and he exhales in exasperation, blowing upward so his bangs flutter around a little. “She asked me out as a joke at the start of last year. Which is unremarkable. Loads of people have done it before, I’m used to it, it’s just sort of boring by now. But the thing is she was, like, _weirdly_ insistent about it considering she was supposedly joking. And then I guess someone caught on and spread a rumor that she actually has a crush on me or something, which is _ridiculous_. I know it’s not true, but it’s sort of fun to mess with her. It shows her I don’t give a shit.”

“And you like, actually don’t?” Jared says, with just the tiniest lingering hint of ‘if this is actually bothering you then you can, like, _talk_ to me’ concern.

“No.” Connor shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “I mean. It doesn’t affect me if she’s asking me out for real or not. She’s an asshole, and, like I said, I’m gay, so.”

“Hm,” Jared says, because he still has no fucking clue how to respond to that last part without, like, screaming or imploding or dropping dead on the spot.

“Is that a problem?” Connor says, a little stiffly.

“What?”

“That I’m gay.”

Well, really, it’s either a huge problem or the complete opposite of a problem depending on exactly how Jared’s feeling about getting his hopes up at any given moment.

Connor keeps staring at him, an almost imperceptible flicker of doubt lurking behind his stony expression.

“Because if it’s a problem…” he begins, that telltale part angry, part anxious tremor starting to creep into his voice.

“No. _No_ , dude, it’s not a problem at all.” Jared cuts in, waving his hands frantically. He glances around the hallway to check that nobody’s eavesdropping. Even though the coast seems clear, he lets his voice get smaller and smaller as he continues to speak. “Actually, I’m… sort of… I’m… gay, too.”

He feels like he’s in an airplane cabin that’s suddenly depressurized. And he’s the only person without an oxygen mask.

“Wait. You’re.” Connor’s eyes are boring right through Jared’s skull. “Is this a _joke_?”

Oh, Jesus.

It feels like there are alarms going off around him. Red flashing lights. _Please secure your own oxygen mask before tending to your sensitive, paranoid friend_.

“Dude. I locked you in my car and forced you to listen to Kesha,” Jared says with what he hopes sounds like a totally casual and unforced laugh. His ears are ringing. “What kind of straight guy would pull that shit?”

“That’s very stereotypical,” Connor says flatly. Jared still can’t find any trust in his eyes.

“Well, excuse _me_ for being problematic.”

Connor actually sort of laughs at that.

“You’re serious, though?” he says after a second, suddenly serious again himself. “You’re… you’re actually gay?”

“Yup.”

It sort of feels like there’s an oxygen mask dangling from the ceiling, now, just out of reach.

“Wow.”

Everything about Connor’s delivery and expression is totally unreadable.

“Okay,” Jared says. “You are literally, like, the fourth person _ever_ who knows that, and I only started _telling_ people, like, last month, so _‘Wow’_ is probably the least reassuring thing you could possibly say to me right now.”

“Sorry,” Connor says, shaking his head. “Sorry. Just… that’s cool, I guess? Or not _cool_ , I don’t know, I mean. It is cool. Fine. Fuck. I have no idea what I’m even saying right now.”

“That makes two of us.”

They’re silent for a moment. Jared wonders if Connor can hear his heart pounding.

“Thank you for telling me,” Connor says at last, each word painfully enunciated like he’s reading from a slightly laggy teleprompter.

“Okay. No sweat?”

It looks almost as if Connor’s going to say something else for a second, but he’s interrupted by Mrs Talley marching past and requesting that everyone gets into the classroom and settles down so that she can actually start teaching now, please.

So instead Connor just smiles. Not one of those hesitant, uncertain things that Jared’s almost used to at this point, but a real, genuine, warm, _radiant_ smile that spreads slowly across his entire face like the sun emerging from behind dark clouds or small yellow flowers sprouting from dry gray asphalt, seeming to fill the entire hallway with light and comfort and a million more _!!_ ’s, skipping and sparkling through Jared’s body like his veins are filled with tiny fireworks.

And he can breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks AS ALWAYS for reading!!!! and thanks as always to rachel (evol_love) and anna (phonecallfromgod) for being incredible & supportive & helpful friends and writing pals
> 
> comments and the like are always so, so greatly appreciated <3
> 
> follow me on tumblr @coniello :~)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a lil disclaimer before i start - a sincere apology to anyone who speaks spanish, because i used google translate & thus it's probably inaccurate. my excuse / reasoning is that neither jared or evan are probably *that* great at spanish so they're almost definitely partially trained by google translate themselves. but pls do not @ me telling me that "my" spanish is wrong, because trust me, i know haha

On Thursday morning, Mrs Walker stops by Jared’s desk midway through math class and asks him to stay behind. Which is slightly alarming, because Jared _still_ isn’t the sort of person who gets held back after class with any amount of regularity, and he can only presume that this is somehow related to the whole tutoring situation but he can’t even begin to figure out how, or, more specifically, why Mrs Walker suddenly wants to talk to him about tutoring _now_. He’s pretty sure it can’t mean anything good. But at least he just about manages to keep any catastrophic thinking at bay until the end of the period.

“Thanks for coming to chat,” Mrs Walker says as Jared approaches her desk, slipping into her patented Forward Lean With Her Hands In Her Lap Because She’s A Cool Relatable Teacher Didn’t You Know.

“Yeah, no problem.” Jared fidgets a little. “Is it cool if I text Connor quickly, actually? We’re sitting together at lunch and I don’t want him to think I’ve, like, abandoned him.”

“Of course,” Mrs Walker says as Jared fires off a not-so-quick message ( _Got held back after math, Evan will hopefully claim our table if he’s not too scared of those weird freshmen so you can just go find him if you want_ ). “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Connor.”

“Oh?”

Try as he might, Jared can no longer repress the weird pang of anxiety that cuts through his abdomen like a bad case of acid reflux. He’s really trying his best to think rationally, stop himself from spiralling into an Evan-esque whirlpool of psychological torment, but despite his best efforts worst case scenarios start milling around in his brain - _Connor failed his latest quiz so clearly he needs a different tutor, Connor got the highest grade ever recorded in the history of math in his latest quiz so he obviously doesn’t need your help anymore, Connor asked for a new tutor because he figured out that you have a weird, freakish crush on him and he wants you to stay the hell away._

“How’s the tutoring been going? I realize I haven’t really checked in with you properly since you started.”

“Huh?” The pesky little anxious gremlins in Jared’s brain try to twist this around into a trick question, thankfully to no avail. “It’s going really well, actually.”

“That’s great to hear,” Mrs Walker says, beaming at him. “I don’t know how much he’s been keeping you up to date, but Connor’s grades have really improved recently. He was really proud of his last quiz result.”

“Yeah, no, he hasn’t been telling me, like, his exact grades, or whatever. But that’s good to know.”

“And it sounds like you’re getting along really well outside of the tutoring, as well. You know, getting lunch together and everything?”

“Yeah, for sure. Connor’s really-” Jared hesitates. He’s really _what_? ‘Cool’ isn’t really accurate. Neither is ‘nice’, strictly speaking, although it’s probably a little less far off the mark than Connor wants people to think. He’s really ‘ _funny’_? ‘Fascinating’? ‘Totally infuriating in all the best possible ways’? ‘ _Hot’_??

In the end, Jared settles for, “He’s really great to talk to, actually.” Which is the lamest compliment in the history of lame compliments, but it seems to satisfy Mrs Walker.

“Good. _Great_. Really, I’m _so_ glad to hear that.”

Then Mrs Walker leans forward a little further in her seat, until Jared’s sort of concerned she might overbalance.

“I think it’s really good that Connor has someone looking out for him,” she says, voice brimming with quiet sincerity.

“Yeah, for sure,” Jared says, although he doesn’t really know what Mrs Walker _means_ by that. Sure, Connor probably falls under that utterly cliché descriptor of ‘troubled’, what with the bullying and the tantrums and the pot and the historic mistreatment of classroom IT equipment, but it’s not like he can’t take care of himself. Right?

Jared has to wonder what Mrs Walker, not to mention his own freaking parents, can see that he can’t.

“Keep up the good work,” Mrs Walker adds, straightening up at last.

Then she lets Jared leave, and lo and behold, who else should be waiting outside the classroom but Connor Murphy himself.

“Hey,” he says as Jared emerges, with a halting gesture that looks like it wants to be a wave but isn’t quite committed. “I got your text and I was sort of heading this way anyway so I thought I’d just stop by and meet you here.”

Jared knows approximately two things for certain. One of these is that Connor has French third period, and the second is that the math classrooms are nowhere near any of the remotely direct routes from the French classrooms to the cafeteria. That said, if he had to add a third thing he knows to the list, it’s that Connor isn’t exactly inclined toward doing things that make sense, and it’s usually best not to question him.

“Thanks, man,” he says instead, punching Connor on the arm. “Like I said, hopefully Evan’s managed to grab our table for us. Either that or those weird freshmen have captured him and are currently sacrificing him to, like, the freaking Warrior Cats or whatever, in which case I guess we’re just kinda fucked.”

“Wow.” Connor pauses for a moment. “So that thing with Mrs Walker, that was about me, wasn’t it?”

 _Fuck_.

“Yeah, but it was just, like, a boring update sort of thing,” Jared says, deliberately keeping his tone at the perfect midpoint between lighthearted and sincere because he _can’t_ let Connor slip into another of his paranoid spirals. “She was just saying you did really well on your last quiz.”

“Not _that_ well. I got a C,” Connor mumbles. “Anyway. I was just wondering because she talked to _me_ yesterday. To see how I was finding things.”

“Well, I hope you gave me a glowing review.”

Connor just smiles in response, awakening a whole swarm of butterflies in Jared’s stomach.

“Oh, by the way, we’re gonna have to cut tutoring short today,” Jared adds a few moments later, as they make their way towards the cafeteria. “Spaghetti’s been feeling crappy for the past couple days so she’s gotta go to the vet and-”

“Is she okay?” Connor says, a look of genuine alarm and concern on his face.

“Yeah, it’s definitely nothing, like, life threatening, don’t freak out. But our regular vet surgery closes way before my parents get off work and it’s not enough of a crisis to justify going to the emergency vet, so _I_ have to take her. Which is going to be a nightmare because she hates getting in her carrier and I’m, like, the only person in my family who hasn’t figured out how to get her in there with minimal resistance so what’s going to happen is she’ll probably bite several chunks out of my flesh and I will end up dying a violent and grisly death at the hands of my own cat, so that sucks.”

“I could come with you?” Connor says.

Jared feels like he’s taken a wrong turn in the middle of the hall and marched face first into a locker.

“Wait, seriously?” he says, trying very hard not to sound _too_ shocked.

“If you don’t want me to then that’s fine. I just thought that maybe I could help.”

“No. No, oh my God, dude, you can totally come. It’s just going to be insanely boring, that’s all.”

“I don’t mind,” Connor says. “Really.”

To really drive the point home, he shoots Jared one of his trademark, utterly charming, half-smiles.

“Wow. I have to say I’m touched. You’d really spend your Thursday afternoon sitting in a vet waiting room for _me_?” Jared says, placing one hand over his heart in a gesture that feels, if not overtly fatal, somewhat like he’s initiating a potentially perilous game of gay chicken.

“For Spaghetti. I don’t like you _that_ much, don’t get cocky.”

“You got it.” Jared drops back a little so Connor can’t see him grimace.

When they get to the cafeteria, Jared still sort of nursing his wounded pride, Evan is hovering outside the main entrance, a safe distance away from the main rush of students making their way in and out of the lunchroom, shifting his weight onto his ankles over and over again and twisting the strap of his backpack around one hand.

“Hey,” he blurts out as soon as Jared and Connor are within earshot. “I’m really sorry, I tried to get to our table but I was actually, I sort of got distracted talking to… talking to someone after class and when I got here those freshmen had already taken it. I tried to talk to them, negotiate, I guess, I kind of thought that maybe we could just sit at one end because there’s only three of us so we wouldn’t take up much room but I guess they, well, I went to talk to them and one of them sort of _growled_ at me so that… didn’t really work out.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I _know_.” Evan does a little mock shudder. Or it could be a real shudder, actually, knowing him. “It was horrifying.”

A few moments later, with perhaps a little more despair in his voice than strictly necessary, Evan adds, “What are we going to _do_?”

Jared looks at Connor, who he’s pretty sure knows about every single technically forbidden lunch spot in the school. Very helpfully, Connor just shrugs.

“Great. Well, _I’m_ not taking one for the team and getting into a territory battle with the furries, so I guess we’re just kind of fucked,” Jared moans.

Just as he’s about to accept his fate of eating his lunch in the middle of a hallway or in a bathroom stall or somewhere else equally unpleasant, he catches sight of a flash of blonde hair in the crowd, and he has a brainwave.

“Hey! Zoe!” he yells, waving his hands in the air like he’s trying to flag down a freaking taxi.

As Zoe turns around, Connor hisses “ _Jared_ -” in a strangled tone of voice, and Evan lets out a horrified squawk and darts off to one side as if he is literally trying to make a break for it.

“Hey,” Zoe says as she approaches, a definite undercurrent of incredulity beneath her warm smile. “What’s up?”

“Can we join you for lunch?” Jared asks. “Our regular table has been seized by those freshmen who think they’re cats.”

Zoe hesitates.

“I can do my own thing,” Connor stammers out after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “If you don’t want-”

“It’s fine,” Zoe says, with the tone of voice of someone who isn’t really sure if it’s fine at all.

A couple of other girls are lingering behind her, looking impatient.

“Should we go ahead?” says one of them, gesturing with one thumb in the direction of the cafeteria. “I don’t wanna lose our table, and we’re already super late.”

“Sure,” Zoe says. Then, just as her friends are about to turn away, she says, “Hey. Can you save seats for all of us?”

Zoe’s friends exchange confused glances, but head into the cafeteria without complaint.

As soon as they’re gone, Zoe approaches Connor.

“Please don’t blow this,” she says, in an undertone that Jared definitely wasn’t meant to overhear.

Although he always brings a packed lunch, Connor joins Jared and Evan in the lunch queue anyway (whether he’s avoiding Zoe or the possibility of having to interact with her friends, Jared can’t quite figure out). When they get back to Zoe’s table, Zoe - who is digging into a salad apparently identical to the ones Connor has to suffer through on a daily basis - enthusiastically beckons for Evan to sit opposite her. Jared considers shooting a significant aside glance in Connor’s direction but figures it might be sort of risky given the circumstances, and instead settles for sitting down next to Evan for maximum chaotic potential. Connor doesn’t really seem to mind sitting the furthest away from his own sister.

“Hey,” says one of Zoe’s friends, with a polite wave across the table. (Jared responds with a quiet “Sup” and a friendly nod, while Evan and Connor don’t say anything at all.)

“Do you guys know each other?” Zoe says after a couple of seconds, with a vague gesture between her friends and Jared’s side of the table.

Shrugs all round.

“Okay, so this is Jen, this is Leah.” Zoe points to each of her friends in turn. Then her attention turns to the other side of the table. “This is Jared, he’s a junior. And this is Evan, you know, from my pottery class.”

Jared tries to shoot Evan a nudge-nudge, wink-wink ‘Dude she’s been talking about you to her friends so she _totally_ wants to smash’ kind of look, but Evan is preoccupied with staring intently at his lunchtray.

Then, almost dismissively, Zoe adds, “And you guys know my brother.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth twitches vaguely upwards in what looks like maybe 2% of a deeply unconvincing smile.

It’s not that Jared has anything _against_ Jen and Leah, considering he literally only just met them and Jen, at least, was nice enough to say hi, but it’s still sort of a relief when they immediately dive into their own conversation about English homework or some shit, leaving him, Connor, Zoe, and Evan to their own devices.

“So. Zoe. How’s your day going?” Connor asks as soon as he’s satisfied that Jen and Leah aren’t listening anymore.

Zoe actually does a double take.

“ _My_ day?”

“That’s what I said.”

Zoe stares at Connor for several seconds, like she’s trying to find a double meaning hidden somewhere in the question. Connor just looks back at her, expression barely skimming the ‘hopeful’ side of neutral.

“It’s going alright,” Zoe says, at last. Then, addressed more at Jared and Evan than Connor, she adds, “I’m pretty busy with jazz band stuff at the moment.”

“Oh, _yeah_ , the concert,” Jared says with an absolutely shit eating grin. “Evan was telling me _all_ about it the other day.”

Evan makes a rather alarming noise that suggests he may have just inhaled the majority of his lunch.

“I just - I was wondering if Jared wanted to come with me because he, uh, he-”

“I am just absolutely _obsessed_ with jazz,” Jared blags.

Zoe stares at him.

“Uh huh,” she says flatly.

“That’s not really what - I actually just needed a ride, Jared’s just being… stupid,” Evan babbles.

“Oh, _thanks_ , Evan,” Jared snaps. Then he turns back to Zoe. “No, for real, jazz band. It’s cool.” (It totally isn’t, that is a _profoundly_ Middle School Jared thing for him to say and he’s embarrassed to even say it as part of a diplomatic lie, but also he’s not gonna be a dick to Connor’s sister in front of him.)

“So how have, what have you been” - Evan clears his throat - “I’m sorry. What are you doing to, to get ready for the concert?”

“Just a lot of rehearsals, mainly,” Zoe says. She’s smiling in a way that’s _slightly_ too warm and friendly to be passed off as obligatory politeness in the face of mind-numbing small talk. “I actually did one of the arrangements for the concert, so I’ve been really busy with that.”

“That’s awesome,” Connor says out of nowhere. It comes out stilted, as if he’s following a script.

Zoe stares at him for a few seconds.

“You think so?” she says flatly.

“I do, for sure,” Evan cuts in. Connor, mouth hanging open as if he was just about to say something else, looks briefly disgruntled at the interruption of his wholesome sibling bonding moment but clearly decides to let it slide. “Is it hard, doing your own arrangements? Sorry, I don’t really, I don’t know all that much about music? I like music though. Listening to it, I mean, I don’t play an instrument or anything, I did choir last year but mostly I just like listening to music, a lot. I listen to music _all_ the time. Especially jazz… band… jazz.”

Jared contemplates just how socially unacceptable it would be to facepalm there and then.

“It was kind of hard, yeah,” Zoe says, very graciously ignoring the bulk of Evan’s verbal diarrhea. “This was my first time doing any arranging. But my guitar teacher does a lot of jazz band arrangements, so she gave me loads of advice.”

“That’s really cool, wow,” Evan says, with the tone of voice of someone who is maybe in the process of being hypnotised.

Zoe does a little one-sided shrug.

“It’s not _that_ impressive,” she says, returning her attention to her Murphy Family Issue Tupperware-Bound Salad.

“No, it really - I think it really is,” Evan says, and out of the corner of his eye Jared sees Connor nodding hastily in agreement. “Like… music? And… wow. I couldn’t imagine doing any of that. You must be, just - just - just-”

“ _Just_?” Jared prompts, and Connor elbows him sharply.

“ _Ithinkyou’rereallytalented_ ,” Evan blurts out at last. Then, a few seconds later, he adds, “Ugh. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Zoe says. Jared hopes that she’s not _actually_ blushing and that it’s a weird trick of the light.

“Because that was probably really creepy, and, _God_. I need to _stop talking_.”

“It’s fine,” Zoe laughs. “Although you haven’t actually _heard_ my piece yet. You might hate it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Evan says, with total sincerity.

“Then I’m excited for you to hear it,” Zoe says.

“Wait, you mean, like, at the - at the _concert_?” Evan stutters. “You actually - I’m -”

“I mean, I _hope_ you’re coming, seeing as I specifically invited you,” Zoe says. “Seriously. It would be really cool to see you there.”

This time she’s _definitely_ blushing. And so is Evan, for that matter, as they both return to their food with their heads bowed and involuntary smiles that the other can’t see starting to creep across their faces.

After a few moments, Leah, who apparently has been eavesdropping on the conversation just enough to know that it is in need of salvation for the good of everyone who _isn’t_ one of the two lovebirds, leaps in.

“Oh my God, Zoe, I didn’t tell you about the _crazy_ thing that happened in English earlier.”

Then she barrels into a rapid and highly involved narrative that Jared can’t even _begin_ to follow, loaded as it is with asides and injokes and extremely enthusiastic impersonations of every single key player, but Zoe seems to appreciate it so he supposes it must be sort of funny.

Partway through Leah’s story, Zoe suddenly freezes, and Evan interjects with an absolutely monstrous squeal composed of several vowel sounds that have probably never been previously uttered in any human language.

“Oh my God I am _so_ sorry,” Evan yelps, once he’s regained the ability to use actual words. “I totally just kicked you, that was _awful_ I just, I wasn’t paying attention to my legs, that was completely my fault, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you, that _wasn’t_ intentional I swear, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Zoe says. “You really don’t have to keep apologizing.”

And she reaches across and squeezes Evan’s hand.

At that exact moment, when Jared is preoccupied with watching Evan’s face turn a practically flourescent shade of red, Connor kicks _him_ under the table. Way too hard for it to have been an accident.

“ _Ow_?” Jared hisses, turning to face Connor. Connor just mouths something that looks very much like “What the fuck” in response.

There’s a moment of _excruciatingly_ awkward silence.

“ _ANYWAY_ ,” Leah proclaims in a downright thunderous tone, and swiftly resumes her anecdote to the relief of, seemingly, everyone else on the table.

The (still convoluted and impossible to follow) conclusion of Leah’s English class saga brings them right up to the warning bell, at which point Zoe, Leah, and Jen say their goodbyes and head off to their next class, and Evan scrambles out of his seat so quickly Jared’s surprised he doesn’t fall flat on his face.

Jared and Connor wait for a little longer, watching until the others are safely out of the cafeteria. Then, at exactly the same time, they turn to each other and whisper, “What was _that_?”

Then, at almost the same time, Connor breathes “Did she just…” and Jared hisses “She was _totally_ flirting with him what the _fuck_.”

Finally, in perfect unison once more -

“Holy. Shit.”

* * *

During Spanish, Jared takes advantage of the buzz of chatter in the room to grill Evan on this bewildering turn of events.

“So since when did you and Zoe become such good buddies?” he asks in conspicuous English amongst his classmates’ halting Spanish language discussions about The Pros And Cons Of Social Media.

“We’re not, um - do you think we’re… _buddies_?” Evan hisses.

“I mean, obviously. Come on, dude, she didn’t call you out for your impersonation of a weird little alien guy trying to pretend he knows what music is, so either she thinks you’re actually _cool_ for some unfathomable reason or she’s literally inhumanly nice.”

“Oh.” Evan looks a little stunned. “Okay. Well. Uh. I guess it’s a funny story, actually, because we really started properly talking literally just after-”

“ _En español por favor_ ,” snaps Mrs Linares as she passes Evan’s desk.

“I don’t know how to explain it in Spanish,” Evan says mournfully.

“Maybe you’d have the right vocabulary if you were actually talking about the topic you’re _meant_ to be discussing, rather than sitting here gossiping.”

“ _Lo siento_ ,” Evan mumbles. Jared is pretty sure that the Spanish isn’t totally necessary at this point, but the effort is admirable.

“Just text me later,” Jared says. Mrs Linares clears her throat. “Sorry, jeez, uh. _Envíame_... _un mensaje de texto_... _más tarde_?”

Mrs Linares gives him a satisfied nod and continues her rounds of the classroom.

Midway through tutoring that afternoon, Connor excuses himself to use the bathroom, and Jared takes advantage of his absence to finish the conversation with Evan.

 **Jared:** _Hey. So. What’s with the Zoe situation. En ingles por favor_

 **Evan:** _Oh yeah_

 **Evan:** _Like I was saying it’s sort of a funny story actually_

 **Evan:** _Please don’t get offended I’m sorry :-(_

 **Jared:** _Can’t get offended if you don’t fucking spit it out dude omg_

 **Evan:** _Basically you know when we had that fight over lunch back when you were fighting with Connor? When I ran out Zoe was there and she saw I was upset so she asked if I was okay and stayed with me until I’d sort of stopped crying_

 **Evan:** _And ever since then we’ve been talking more_

 **Evan:** _So I guess thanks for being an asshole to me that day_

 **Evan:** _That sounded really rude I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that_

 **Jared:** _So what you’re telling me is my crush’s sister thinks I’m a massive douche? Awesome_

 **Evan:** _No!!!! No I’m sorry it’s not like that at all_

“Who are you texting?”

Jared slams his phone face down onto the desk.

“ _Jesus_ , dude, you are _terrifying_ when you sneak up like that,” he says as Connor edges back into the room. “And I was texting Evan, by the way.”

“About Zoe?” Connor sits down. “It’s fine if you were. I mean. If you’re not saying anything creepy.”

“Oh, no, I’m not being creepy, I promise,” Jared says. Then, realizing that that couldn’t have sounded more disingenuous if he tried, he adds, “I was just asking when they became such good friends.”

“When _did_ they?”

“They have some dumb pottery class together,” Jared says, which is a half truth at best but is also considerably easier to explain than the _actual_ history of Evan and Zoe’s budding courtship. “Apparently nothing says ‘chaste and excruciatingly awkward flirtation’ like sitting next to each other for an hour moulding ultra phallic vases.”

“Huh. Wow.”

Connor pauses for several seconds, clearly deep in thought.

“So. Zoe and I, we… I’ve not been… we’re kind of working through some shit, but I’m _really_ trying not to be shitty here and, look - Evan wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt Zoe, would he?” he says at last, his voice painfully small and hesitant.

“Jesus, no, you have _nothing_ to worry about. Evan Hansen does not have a mean bone in his body,” Jared says. “Unlike Mrs Walker when she set you these homework questions because Jesus _Christ_ , dude. We should get back to this before it’s time for the Spaghettipocalypse.”

Unfortunately, the hour of the Spaghettipocalypse descends upon them not long afterwards, and Jared and Connor find themselves crouching on the floor of the living room trying to coax an extremely suspicious-looking Spaghetti out from behind the couch.

“Come on, Spag,” Jared whines, following a succession of mortally embarrassing kissy noises.

“I don’t think she’s listening,” Connor says, slightly more pointedly than is perhaps strictly necessary.

“Look, I get that you’re secretly a cat whisperer, or whatever, but I’ve got this.”

“Okay.” Jared can practically _hear_ Connor’s raised eyebrow. “You keep telling yourself that.”

In the wake of that unnecessarily painful ‘I don’t like you _that_ much’ comment earlier, which Jared thinks was probably a joke, but not as much of a joke as he might secretly wish, he figures he’s been given permission to fire back. So he flips Connor off, and then returns his attention to Spaghetti.

After several more minutes of trying (and actively rejecting Connor’s advice because even if he’s literally here to help, Jared still has to exude _some_ degree of competence as a cat owner), Jared finally manages to retrieve Spaghetti from her hiding place.

“Hey, asshole,” he says in a dumb little baby voice that he _wishes_ Connor didn’t have to hear but it’s basically a compulsory aspect of his Spaghetti interactions. “Guess what? You’re going to cat jail. Oh yes you _are_.”

Spaghetti is already wriggling about like a cat possessed, and when Jared attempts to place her in her carrier (his method is slow and steady, letting her gradually acclimatise herself to her new surroundings, or so the theory goes) she instead twists herself around violently, scratching haphazardly at every single surface within reach, most of which happen to be attached to Jared’s body.

“ _Ouch_! Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Spaghetti!”

He drops her for just long enough to save himself from further mauling, before pulling her back into his arms for take two. This time, Jared attempts to bundle Spaghetti into the carrier as quickly as he possibly can without hurting her, which seems to startle her out of remembering how to use her claws, at least. Regrettably, her teeth are still in perfect working order, and Spaghetti has precisely no qualms about making Jared’s right hand a target for the second time in five minutes.

“No! _No_!” Jared yells, snatching his hand away and investigating the positively vampire-like bite marks that Spaghetti has so artfully placed between his thumb and pointer finger. “You’re a _bastard_. Evil girl.”

“Don’t call her that!” Connor exclaims. “She’s not _evil_ , she’s just scared.”

“I’m the one who should be scared of her eating my entire freaking _hand_ ,” Jared counters, continuing to hold Spaghetti as tight as he humanly can without giving her further access to any particularly tasty-looking extremities.

“Okay. Let me try,” Connor says.

“Right. _Fine_.”

“Put her down for a second first. You’re stressing her out.”

“Oh, okay, I forgot that this is literally _my_ cat that I’ve owned for almost ten years, please do continue to psychoanalyze her.”

“Can you just do what I say?” Connor says, utterly exasperated.

“Fine, but she’s going to run off and then we’ll never find her again and _you_ will owe me the missed appointment fee.”

“She’s _not_ going to run off, because I have something that interests her,” Connor says, reaching for his bag.

He rummages for a couple of seconds before producing before producing - if Jared wasn’t already on the floor he’d be deeply concerned about passing the fuck out - a small packet of cat treats. Instantly, Spaghetti squirms out of Jared’s arms and hurries over to investigate.

“Wait, did you just - do you carry around _cat treats_ in your fucking _school bag_?” Jared splutters in disbelief.

Connor shrugs, tipping a few treats out onto the palm of his hand.

“There are loads of cats around my neighborhood,” he says, as if he is explaining something totally normal and mundane. “I see them all the time when I’m walking home from school or tutoring or whatever and it’s nice to stop and, I don’t know, say hello to them. And this helps them trust me, so. Yeah. I keep these around, just in case.”

It takes Jared considerable effort not to loudly proclaim something along the lines of ‘Literally please just marry me now.’

“Right,” Connor continues, as Spaghetti practically inhales the serving of treats in his hand. “Now turn the carrier the other way up, so the door’s facing the ceiling.”

Jared makes a show of rolling his eyes, because he’s got a brand to maintain by this stage in the proceedings, but he complies anyway. Then, in one swift motion, Connor scoops Spaghetti up off the floor and neatly deposits her in the cat carrier, latching the door shut behind her.

“Okay, fuck you,” Jared deadpans as Connor gently turns the carrier back over.

“I think the word you’re looking for is _thanks_ , actually.”

It’s a small consolation that although Connor managed to restrain Spaghetti easily enough, he can’t stop her from meowing indignantly about it for the entire time it takes to bring her out to Jared’s car. After setting the carrier down in the back seat, Jared goes to open the passenger side door, but Connor just waves one hand at him dismissively.

“I’ll sit in the back with her,” he says. “In case she gets scared.”

“Oh, yeah, because if I was a terrified small animal I’d feel _so_ comforted by your face looming down at me through the doors of my carrier.”

“Can you _stop_?"

It turns out that Connor’s chosen method of comforting Spaghetti (who really seems less _scared_ by the experience of being in a car, and more just sort of generically whiny about the whole situation) is just talking to her, non stop, for the entire journey to the vet hospital. On top of the slightly insulting fact that Connor is probably exchanging more words with Spaghetti in the space of a single ten minute car ride than he has with Jared over the past several weeks combined, Jared also can’t quite figure out whether it’s very good or _incredibly_ bad for his emotional wellbeing that Connor eschews the regular ‘conversing with a pet’ baby talk in favor of addressing Spaghetti like she’s an actual human person.

“Yeah,” he says in response to a particularly plaintive meow, with an almost therapist-esque tone of deeply sympathetic understanding. “Yeah, I _bet_ it sucks being stuck in that tiny little box in a moving vehicle when you probably don’t even get how cars work. Or maybe you do. You seem pretty smart. But it’s probably still really shitty.”

Spaghetti meows again.

“ _Right_? But you’ve only got to put up with this for like, five minutes. Then you just have to… okay, so then you’ve got to hang out at the vet and that’s probably going to suck as well, but it’s for the best.”

“Wow. Connor Murphy, you are a _master_ of comfort and reassurance,” Jared says.

Although he can’t quite see Connor in the rearview mirror, Jared is willing to bet that he rolls his eyes in response.

“Spaghetti, can you please tell your owner to stop being a dick?”

Spaghetti makes a small but disconcertingly enthusiastic _mrrrp_ noise.

As soon as they sit down in the veterinary hospital waiting room, in between a woman with an aggressively trembling chihuahua and a young couple cradling what sounds like it might be an entire crate full of kittens, Connor pulls _Anna Karenina_ out of his bag. Typical. He’s nearing the end, by the looks of it, and Jared has to wonder just how much of his spare time the guy spends reading because he could have _sworn_ Connor was only about halfway through, like, three weeks ago. Every so often, he puts the book down to stick one finger through the door of Spaghetti’s carrier to scratch at her chin or behind her ear. The entire tableau is, frankly, absolutely sickening, and definitely does _not_ fill Jared’s brain with thoughts of sitting with Connor in a cozy sunlit cottage or some shit while Jared attempts to replicate one of his dad’s baking recipes and Connor sprawls across a window seat with a book in his hands and a sleeping Spaghetti curled up on his lap.

“How’s the book?” Jared asks, in a desperate attempt to distract himself from his gay domestic fantasy.

Connor shrugs. “Fine.”

“What’s going on at the moment? Like, in the plot?”

“Explaining it’s sort of pointless,” Connor murmurs.

“Come on, _please_. If I have to read this poster about canine dental health one more time I’m going to lose my freaking mind.”

Connor sighs. “Alright, so Anna is having this huge fight with Vronsky - that’s the guy she’s having an affair with - because she thinks he’s cheating on _her_ now, and as well her actual husband won’t let her get a divorce so she can’t even marry Vronsky to make their relationship more acceptable or whatever, and she’s not allowed to see her son, and she’s pretty much been shunned by the whole of pretentious judgemental Russian high society, so. Y’know. Everything’s kind of shit for her.”

“Aw, bummer.” (Spaghetti meows in an expression of either sympathy or absolutely agonizing boredom.) “Does shit work out in the end, though? Or is this one of those super depressing old classics where everyone dies miserable and it’s meant to be some grand expression of the human condition or some crap like that?”

Connor shuts the book.

“I haven’t gotten that far,” he says, a little curtly. “But, yeah. I know the story and it doesn’t end well.”

“What happens?”

“Look. I’m not going to spoil the whole plot for you,” Connor says. He’s very quiet all of a sudden, intently focused on stroking the top of Spaghetti’s head. “Maybe you should read it yourself.”

“Eh. Maybe. Russian farming drama or whatever it is you were talking about the other week doesn’t really float my boat.”

At that exact moment, the vet pokes her head out of the doorway.

“Spaghetti R2-D2 Kleinman?”

Connor suddenly explodes back into action with an honest to God _shriek_ of laughter that prompts the woman with the chihuahua to turn around and aggressively shush him.

“What the fuck was _that_?!” Jared exclaims, trying very hard not to dissolve into helpless cackling himself.

“Your cat has a _middle name_? And it’s fucking _R2-D2_?” Connor just about manages to wheeze out after several seconds of total hysteria.

“I was _seven_ ,” Jared protests. “Food and _Star Wars_ were literally my only two interests.”

“Oh my _God_.”

“I actually initially wanted R2-D2 to be her first name,” Jared adds as they follow the vet into her office. “But my parents were like, no, that’s stupid, but because I was seven years old and super whiny and annoying-”

“Nice past tense,” Connor mutters.

“I am going to personally order Spaghetti to bite you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Connor smirks at him.

“Anyway,” Jared says pointedly, trying very hard to ignore the sudden obtrusive fluttering in his chest. “So Spaghetti was my second choice name, and there was, like, a week of vicious family infighting before I eventually relented and went for that instead. But as a compromise my parents let me, personally, put R2-D2 as her middle name on all the vet forms. And by the time I accepted that R2-D2 was, in fact, sort of a dumbass name for the cat the vets were like no, sorry, we can’t actually change the names of pets on our file unless they also change owners because of our absurdly antiquated software, which is a stupid rule, but it means she’s stuck like this now. So, like, my parents won the battle, but this vet surgery won the war.”

By the time Jared finishes his spiel, he and Connor are standing inside the office with the vet, who has been waiting with an admirable degree of patience for him to shut the fuck up.

“So how’s Spaghetti R2-D2 doing today?” she says, very deliberately.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jared sees Connor brace himself against the wall for support.

“She actually prefers to go by just Spaghetti now,” Jared says through gritted teeth. “But, yeah. We noticed she’s been acting weird and stuff pretty much all week, so my parents said I should bring her in."

“How do you mean, acting weird?”

“Well, I mean, she’s always acting weird, because she’s a truly freakish little creature.” (Connor appreciates this quip; the vet apparently does not.) “But this was all, like, weird by _her_ standards.”

As Jared goes on he realizes that a whole bunch of Spaghetti’s symptoms are related to peeing, and God he really should not find it so embarrassing to talk about his cat’s urinary habits in front of his crush because he isn’t twelve years old but every time the vet prods him about how many time Spaghetti uses the litter tray daily or whatever Jared feels his face getting a little hotter.

“I’m just going to take a look at her,” the vet says after Jared finally finishes what feels like an interminable spiel about Spaghetti’s piss schedule. “Can you hold her still?”

“I’ll do it,” Connor blurts out in Jared’s maximum 0.2 seconds of hesitation.

“Of _course_ you will,” Jared mutters.

Connor approaches Spaghetti carefully, stroking the top of her head with one hand and applying gentle pressure with the other to keep her in place while the vet pokes around. It would be an endearing image, were it not for the fact that Connor, bending over to the level of the table and with no free hands to control his ridiculous emo bangs, keeps blowing his hair out of his face every few seconds with quiet but forceful huffing noises that might well be a contender for the single most annoying sound Jared has ever heard in his life.

“Can you stop doing that?” Jared exclaims after about the fifth successive puff. He’s maybe letting the exasperation at Connor’s total pet care superiority get to him a little, but fuck it, he’s allowed to be a petty dick once in a while.

“I can’t help it,” Connor says, still intently focused on holding Spaghetti down.

“Well _maybe_ if you got a fucking _haircut_ ” - he’s interrupted by another, more indignant, huff from Connor - “Jesus Christ, okay, hold still.”

Even though every sensible cell in his body is screaming at him to stop, Jared reaches out and pushes the stray locks of Connor’s hair back. It’s softer than Jared expected, incredibly thick, just tangled enough that Jared has to be careful not to accidentally tug through a knot. As he tucks the strands back behind Connor’s ear, fingers barely skimming skin, Connor tenses, an almost inaudible breath catching in the back of his throat, and Jared freezes _himself_ in response, stuck between apologizing and playing the whole thing off entirely. So, naturally, he decides to compromise and not say anything at all, instead shoving his hand in his pocket and trying to ignore how it feels like he’s getting pins and needles, like his fingertips are covered in tiny stars.

Admittedly Connor isn’t always the most polite guy on earth, but Jared was at least anticipating a “thank you”. But Connor doesn’t say anything at all. In fact, it barely looks like he’s even breathing. He just stares, unblinking, at Spaghetti, a perfectly terrifying emotional blank slate.

“I’m going to run a couple of tests,” says the vet all of a sudden, cutting through the awkwardness in the room like a sharp knife slicing through a taut sheet of paper. “If you want, you can sit out in the waiting room again. Or you can wait here.”

With that, she grabs Spaghetti and leaves.

Suddenly, the office feels simultaneously endless in its expanse and claustrophobically tiny.

“I bet you want to go and sit back down and read all about Anna Karenina’s romantic tribulations, right?” Jared says, with as much nonchalance as he can possibly muster.

“What?” Connor shakes his head as if he’s been interrupted in the middle of a daydream. “Oh. No, it’s fine.” One finger gently traces the circumference of his spinner ring. “I think I’m at a good place to pause for a while, so.”

“Okay. I guess we’ll just chill here.”

Connor makes a quiet, strained “Mm-hm” noise.

So they stand in the vet’s office in uncomfortable silence, Jared trying to ignore the persistent psychosomatic tingle in his hand while Connor examines a poster about Supporting Your Anxious Pet On The 4th Of July that is either very premature or sorely outstaying its welcome. It feels like a freaking godsend when the vet eventually returns, several minutes later, brandishing a very disgruntled Spaghetti (and sporting a bandaid on her hand that definitely wasn’t there before.)

“So I think what’s wrong with her is something called cystitis,” the vet says, looking very relieved to finally be able to put Spaghetti down. “Which is basically a blockage of the bladder. It’s usually caused by stress, so if there’s been any particularly stressful events in little Spaghetti’s life recently-”

“I mean, she has to live with you,” Connor mutters to Jared.

“ _Dude_.”

“-Then that could have caused her symptoms. It’s very treatable, so there’s no need to worry. For now I’d actually just like to give her some pain medication, so she’s a little more comfortable.”

“Wait, like a pill?” Jared says.

“Is that a problem?” the vet asks. She sounds positively exhausted.

“Sort of,” Jared says, mentally revving himself up into Amusing Anecdote mode. “We had to try and give her a painkiller this one time a few years ago because she stood on a bee and she spat it out and then hid on top of the fridge for three hours.”

The vet grimaces, and Connor mouths “three _hours_?!” with a shocked-slash-weirdly-impressed expression so flawless it arguably belongs in the fucking Louvre.

“Ah. Right,” says the vet, deep in thought for a moment. “Well, I can give you some liquid medication that goes on top of her food if she needs any more pain relief at home. But for now, while I give her this tablet, maybe your… _friend_ can help me hold her still again?”

There’s a definite, undeniable innuendo in the vet’s careful delivery, and Jared suddenly feels like _he’s_ the one who might need to be held still in order to prevent him from bolting out of the vet surgery, and quite possibly out of the _country_ just to be on the safe side.

“Yeah. Sure,” Connor says.

Jared desperately hopes that Connor’s stiffness is nothing more than a symptom of his characteristic discomfort around strangers.

As the vet cautiously approaches Spaghetti, Jared just about dares to glance across at Connor out of the corner of his eye, but Connor is totally fixated on Spaghetti himself, his hair falling over just enough of his face that Jared has no hope of figuring out his facial expression. And he’s sure as hell not going anywhere near Connor’s awful, indecently soft, stupidly floppy bangs again any time soon.

Just to make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid, he chooses instead to focus on the vet, hands firmly in pockets, as she opens up Spaghetti’s mouth and places a single small pill inside.

Then she steps back, and there’s a moment of silence, during which the vet looks extremely proud of herself, Spaghetti (mouth now closed again) looks like she is trying very hard to process what the fuck just happened, and Connor still doesn’t look like he’s experiencing any emotion at all.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, Spaghetti?” the vet coos.

In response, Spaghetti spits the tablet clean across the room.

Connor splutters with laughter, and the tension in the room dissipates immediately.

(Jared makes a mental note to give Spaghetti another cat treat when she gets home as a reward for her service.)

After a second, more successful, attempt at administering Spaghetti’s medicine, the vet sends her home with a bottle of painkillers and various instructions on how to reduce stress and monitor her urine output (Jared finds himself blushing again, which is ridiculous because he has not spent several years honing his abilities as a veritable master of dirty jokes just to get flustered in the face of a little medically necessary toilet discussion). By the time Jared and Connor have returned Spaghetti to her home, and Spaghetti has retreated to the top of the fridge (to Connor’s absolute delight), it’s almost 6.30pm, and Jared offers to give Connor a ride home to save him yet another paternal lecture on the topic of punctuality.

He can’t help but feel relieved when Connor accepts the offer without a moment’s hesitation.

“Hey, so, I was wondering,” Jared begins as he pulls into Connor’s stupidly fancy driveway, making sure to inject his inflection with carefully measured casualness. “I have, like, zero plans for this weekend. So if you wanted we could totally hang out or something or-”

“I can’t this weekend,” Connor says with a sardonic eye roll. “I’m grounded. Again.”

“Jesus Christ. What totally explainable thing that wasn’t really your fault did you do this time?”

Connor shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, all the same, that sucks.”

“It’s fine. This wouldn’t have been a great weekend to hang out anyway.” Connor’s quieter all of a sudden. “I have other… stuff… going on.”

“Like what?”

“Just a ton of homework,” Connor says, a tad _too_ quickly for it to be believable. “Maybe another weekend, though?”

Jared can’t quite believe his ears.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning from ear to ear despite his best efforts. “That would be awesome. Spaghetti will be so freaking excited to actually spend time with you when you’re not just holed up in my room doing math. You’re like that fucking, you know, the guy with the crazy facial hair who does all the cat behavior shows on TV.”

Connor chuckles. “Great. Thanks. Guess I’ll try and grow a weird beard for next time.”

 _Please do not suggest anything of the sort because my brain is not capable of configuring an appropriate hormonal response to that kind of statement and now is_ not _the time for a new entry on my Weirdest Boners shortlist_ , Jared thinks. But obviously he can’t say any of that out loud, so instead he just says “Haha, yeah, dude.” Like, he doesn’t even actually laugh. He just properly verbalizes Haha. Ha. Ha. Absolutely fucking shameful.

“Anyway. I should head in,” Connor says. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“For sure.”

And then Connor leaves, and Jared’s heart rate is free to return to normal.

Just as he’s about to pull away, he gets a text from Evan that reads _By the way you don’t think I was too obviously flirty with Zoe earlier do you????_

A few seconds later, a second text that reads, in its entirety, _????? Help ??????_ , really drives the point home.

Jared can’t help but smile. No matter what kind of shit goes down with Connor, at least there’s something weirdly comforting about the knowledge that he’s not the only absolute disaster of a human being in this weird fledgling friend group of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! as always, a massive thanks to rachel (@evol_love) and anna (@phonecallfromgod) for their invaluable help and support - they are both godsends when it comes to talking through tricky little details like "why would a cat need to go to the vet" and suchlike. also thanks to my own cat, magic, for having a sensitive medical issue of her own which i had to explain to a really hot vet and which thus served as partial inspiration for this chapter
> 
> comments & the like are all hugely appreciated <3
> 
> also come & check out my tumblr @coniello if you're into things like mildly funny life anecdotes and having strong opinions about the deh novel


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy i'm BACK. apologies for the huge delay, this term at uni has been HELL. but i'm done with my main commitment so it's time to make a boy SAD

Connor doesn’t turn up to English the following Monday.

His absence isn’t really unprecedented. Connor cuts class a bunch, when he’s not skipping school entirely. Jared’s more than used to hearing scathing comments from teachers along the theme of “Ah, I see Connor has decided not to grace us with his presence today”. But he’d been sort of distant over the weekend as well, taking longer than usual to respond to Jared’s texts and Snapchats even though he’d been super friendly all week. And sure, he’d said on Thursday that he was going to be busy with school shit, or whatever, but he even left a Snapchat video of Spaghetti refusing to take her medication on “seen”, which was just objectively _totally_ out of character and not remotely excusable on the grounds of _homework_.

So when Connor’s not around at lunch, or in Chemistry, and Alana (apparently noticing Jared looking around the lab like a freaking lost puppy) says that she didn’t see him in French either, Jared starts to worry, those weird, cryptic snatches of conversation from his parents and Mrs Walker swirling back up into his brain like water into a clogged sink.

 _We think he might be having a rough time at the moment_.

_I’m sure it would really help him, just to know someone’s there for him._

_It’s really good that someone’s looking out for him_.

He can’t quite shake the feeling that it’s somehow his _duty_ to make sure that Connor’s okay.

And it’s probably just good etiquette to check up on him anyway, considering they’re Actually Friends now.

So, when he gets home in the afternoon, he texts Connor. Nothing too pushy, because he knows that won’t go down well. Just a quick “ _Hey, I didn’t see you at school today, you good_?”

He doesn’t get a response for several hours.

Just after 9pm, when Jared is wrapping up the final details of a Chemistry assignment that he couldn’t really focus on, his phone screen finally lights up.

 **Connor:** _im sick. dont bother waiting for me for tutoring tomorrow_

 **Jared:** _Aw shit dude :-/ get better soon_

This time, Connor doesn’t reply at all.

True to his word, Connor isn’t in school on Tuesday either, and he still won’t answer any more of Jared’s texts. When he’s missing, yet again, from English class on Wednesday, Jared decides to take matters into his own hands and do some investigating during lunch.

He finds Zoe at the same cafeteria table as last Thursday, deep in conversation with Jen and Leah and a couple of other sophomores Jared doesn’t know.

“Hey, Zoe. What’s up?” Jared says. He doesn’t bother asking if he can sit down, squeezing uninvited into the - smaller than he anticipated - gap between Zoe and Jen.

“Oh. Hey, Jared.” Zoe offers him a fleeting, warm smile, and shuffles to one side to make room for him. She doesn’t bother introducing him to her other friends.

Nobody speaks for a good minute.

“So,” Jared says, once the silence has reached borderline unbearable levels of awkward. “What’s up with Connor?”

“He’s sick,” Zoe says curtly, not looking up from her food. It’s probably the most _Connor_ move Jared has ever seen her pull.

“Well, yeah, I got that much. But what’s actually wrong with him?”

Zoe stiffens. Slowly, deliberately, she looks up at Jared, fixing him with a steely, penetrating glare that makes him wonder why people think Connor’s the only scary Murphy sibling.

“Why do you want to know?” she says. Beneath her words there’s a very strongly implied _Choose your answer wisely_.

“Uh.” Jared falters. Zoe’s grip on her fork tightens. “Because we’re friends? And because… uh. He has a quiz coming up soon? And I want to get an idea of when I can get back to tutoring him?”

Zoe bites her lip.

“Okay,” she says, putting her fork down.“Okay. He has food poisoning.”

To her credit, she’s a decent enough liar that Jared _almost_ believes her for half a second.

“Wait. Okay. No. _Bullshit_.” He says as soon as that half second has passed, gesturing at Zoe’s salad. “You two eat the _same fucking food_ , like, _all_ the time. Come on, Zoe, what’s _actually_ going on?"

“He’s just sick, alright?” Zoe exclaims, the words bursting out of her like a sudden explosion. She stands up so suddenly and forcefully that the entire table rattles. “You don’t have to know everything all the time.”

“Wait, _what_? Zoe, I’m just trying to-”

“Leave me alone.” Zoe’s voice trembles a little - Jared can’t quite tell whether it’s with rage or suppressed tears - as she stuffs her tupperware into her backpack and storms away.

When Jared looks back across the table, Zoe’s friends are all fixing him with cold stares.

“Wow, Jesus _Christ_ ,” he says, with a forced laugh that’s so blatantly unconvincing it just makes his own voice sound shaky. “What’s up with _her_?”

Nobody replies.

“Cool. Enjoy your lunch,” Jared mutters, before getting up and leaving himself.

He makes sure to walk off in the opposite direction to Zoe, just to make it absolutely clear that he’s not going to pursue _that_ lead any further.

* * *

Connor finally turns up to school again on Thursday, slipping into first period English five minutes late. The first thing Jared notices is that he looks _rough_. But not the sort of Rough he’d expect of someone who’d been off school for three days with, like, the stomach flu or whatever. He just seems _tired_ , really, wearing an outfit that appears like it’s been thrown on with the bare minimum of effort, his hair greasy and tangled, the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced than usual. And he looks smaller, somehow, whether it’s the way he’s carrying himself or the oversized hoodie he’s hiding in or the fact that he’s stranded at the front of the classroom when everyone else is comfortably settled, leaving him a sitting duck for snide comments.

Jared tries to make eye contact with Connor, offer him a reassuring smile or something, but Connor’s eyes are fixed on the ground as he makes his way to his seat.

“Thank you for your punctuality, Connor,” says Mrs Talley, provoking quiet snickers of laughter across the room.

Connor stops dead in his tracks. For a moment it looks like he’s considering whether to just turn around and walk out again.

Then he rolls his eyes, mutters, “Yeah. You’re welcome,” and sits down.

Jared has a good enough vantage point to keep an eye on Connor throughout English. Not that there’s much to observe. Connor spends pretty much the entire class resting his head on his desk, occasionally looking up for just long enough to rub at his face with the exhausted air of someone who hasn’t slept properly in days.

A couple of times in the first twenty minutes of class, Mrs Talley comes over to Connor’s desk, apparently to prompt him into actually working. She gives up before the halfway point of the period.

After class, Connor goes to leave straight away, stuffing all his books and stationery that went totally untouched for the whole hour back into his back with haphazard carelessness. Jared follows him out, catching up with him a few paces down the hall.

“Hey, man,” Jared says, slowing down to walk alongside Connor, and he almost goes to punch him on the arm but a small part of him suspects the poor guy would just shatter from the slightest bit of physical force. “Feeling better?”

Connor stops dead and looks across at him with dull eyes. After a moment, he shrugs.

“Look, dude.” Jared doesn’t even have to actively _try_ to sound concerned as he ushers Connor off to one side so they’re not blocking the flow of people in the hallway. “If you need to go home-”

“Well, I can’t,” Connor snaps. “I have this quiz in French today and _apparently_ I’m not allowed to miss it.”

“Aren’t you, like, some freakish French language genius or something? I’m pretty sure you’ll get away with skipping one quiz.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Connor says, enunciating each word very deliberately, like he thinks Jared’s an idiot.

“What do you _mean,_ you don’t have a choice?”

“I mean,” Connor raises his voice suddenly. “My fucking dad forced me to go to school even though I told him I feel like _shit_ , and I _really_ just want to - to get through this _one_ fucking day without anyone giving me crap, and that includes _you_ , so can you _please_ just stop. Fucking. Pushing me.”

Then Connor stops. Inhales. Scrubs his hands down his face again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- it’s not your fault. I just-” he trails off, shaking his head.

“Yeah, no, I get it.”

“No. You _don’t_.”

“You know what I mean.”

Connor doesn’t say anything.

“Do you at least want to do lunch?” Jared tries after a moment, deliberately cautious.

Connor shakes his head. “I... I have a meeting.”

“Well, skip it. That sounds boring as shit.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Connor says brusquely. “Just - stop telling me what to do. For fuck’s sake.”

“Okay.” Jared grimaces. “Got it.”

They stand there in silence for a moment, Connor picking at a hangnail on his right thumb. Jared notices that his nails are bare for the first time in recent memory.

“I have to go to History,” Connor says eventually, one hand moving to grasp at the strap of his bag.

“Yeah, of course,” Jared says. “See you in Chemistry?”

Connor sighs.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Then he walks away without another word, the arm that isn’t clutching his bag hanging limply by his side, like he’s a marionette whose strings have all been cut.

Once Connor has disappeared into the crowds further down the hall, Jared pulls out his phone and texts Evan.

 **Jared:** _Hey can you keep an eye on Connor during history?_

Evan responds almost immediately.

 **Evan:** _Yeah, of course :-)_

 **Evan:** _Is he still sick?_

Jared doesn’t really know how to respond. So he just leaves it, and doesn’t hear from Evan again until he turns up at their regular lunch table nearly two hours later.

“Hey,” says Evan as he sits down. “So, uh, what’s up with Connor?”

“Beats me,” Jared scoffs. “I _would_ say maybe you should ask your _girlfriend_ , but she’s being weirdly cagey about it for some dumb reason.”

“Zoe’s not my-” Evan cuts himself off. “We’re not _anything_. But that’s completely, I’m not here to talk about Zoe.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, trying to hide his vague disappointment that his attempt at deflection didn’t work in the slightest.

“So. Connor,” Evan says again, a little more insistent.

Jared shrugs. “I told you, bro. I know nothing. Did you keep an eye on him, though? Like I said?”

“I did until he walked out,” Evan says apologetically.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” There’s a pit in Jared’s stomach all of a sudden. “What happened?”

“I think he fell asleep, or, I don’t know, at least it looked like he was sleeping. And Mrs Radcliffe came over and started yelling at him in front of _everyone_ and Connor, he was shouting back about how it wasn’t his fault her class is so boring that he can just fall asleep, and then, I don’t know, people started laughing and I really think they were laughing _with_ Connor, not _at_ him, because what he said was actually pretty funny but he turned around like, ‘What the fuck are _you_ all laughing at?’ and then he just… walked out.”

“Ugh, _fuck_.” Jared hides his head in his hands.

“You don’t think he’s…?” Through the gaps between his fingers, Jared can just about make out Evan inclining his head towards the exit.

“No, no, he can’t have left entirely because he had some French quiz third period that he was completely freaking out about.” Jared sighs. “Either way, that’s a fucking bummer, though. _Shit_."

“I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t, you know.” Evan gestures helplessly with his fork. “Help out.”

“What were you going to do?” Jared throws a mirthless laugh in Evan’s direction. “I told you to keep an eye on him, not rush out in hot pursuit when he walked out of class so that you could, like… hug him, or high five him as a token of appreciation for him totally owning your history teacher, or whatever.”

“I know, I know, but… even so-”

“Dude, _stop_ beating yourself up about it,” Jared groans. _I don’t need to worry about_ two _of my friends today_ , he almost adds. But he decides against it, and instead spends the rest of the lunch hour trying to steer the conversation as far away from Connor as he can possibly manage.

Chemistry is relatively uneventful at first. Connor at least makes it to this class on time, not attracting much notice as he makes his way across the lab to his seat. Alana even seems considerably more subdued than normal when she starts chatting to him, which is probably a blessing, because Jared can’t imagine Connor in this state being remotely receptive to Alana’s usual mile-a-minute conversational pace. And during Mr Webb’s pre-lab spiel Connor just sits there quietly, not really listening, but also not _not_ listening obviously enough for it to cause a problem.

But then the class is actually set to work, and, because it would obviously be too much to ask of the universe for Connor to catch a break for a single hour, Alana sends him off to pick up a piece of lab equipment that just so happens to be stored right next to where Adam and his lab partner are working. He makes his way across slowly and cautiously, arms folded defensively across his chest, looking at the floor with his unkempt bangs covering his face as if this might somehow stop Adam from recognizing him.

But - unsurprisingly - it doesn’t work. As Connor passes, Adam jostles him sharply and deliberately. Connor stumbles for a second before managing to steady himself against the nearest table, looking up and glaring stiffly and silently at Adam, and the moment feels scarily fraught even though Jared thinks he might be the only person to notice it.

Then, after a few seconds, the rage in Connor’s eyes turns into something more akin to exhaustion.

“Fuck off,” he says at last, his voice too flat to be even remotely intimidating.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Adam says, even though it’s perfectly clear that Connor doesn’t want to engage right now. Then he says something else, in a voice way too low for Jared to hear him from several seats away. But whatever it is, Connor responds by shoving him, hard.

Mr Webb turns around just in time to see Adam slam back against a set of cabinets, and Connor is sent outside with a threat of detention and an order to spend the rest of the period copying out lab safety rules. Jared’s half expecting him to argue, point out that he was provoked or at the very least claim that it was an accident, but Connor just draws in a deep breath, grabs his stuff, and stalks out of the room.

When Jared pretends to need to go to the bathroom ten minutes later so that he can check on him out in the hall, Connor is no longer there.

Part of Jared’s not even really expecting Connor to show up in the parking lot after school, not after everything that’s happened today, but he’s already waiting when Jared gets out of class, sitting there on his regular bench staring at the ground.

“Hey,” Jared says as he approaches. Connor blinks rapidly, like Jared’s sudden appearance made him jump but he doesn’t have the energy to actually react accordingly. “If you want - I mean, like, if you’re still sick we can totally just skip tutoring today.”

When Connor responds his voice is strained, like even talking is way too much of an effort for him at this point. “No, no, I _want_ \- I’ve just missed three days of math, so I’m probably fucked if I don’t come over.”

“Are you sure?”

Connor shuts his eyes for a moment. “Can I just get in the car now?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Jared is surprised at how soft his own voice sounds.

“How was your French quiz?” He adds a minute or so later, as Connor slumps down in the passenger seat of his car.

Connor just shakes his head.

“Wow. That good, huh?”

“ _Don’t_.” There’s just enough danger in Connor’s delivery, an undercurrent of _I am so unbelievably not in the mood for you to even try and fuck with me_ , that it shuts Jared up.

As they pull out of the parking lot, Jared tries to put on one of his “upbeat but not _too_ upbeat” playlists as a last-ditch attempt to lighten the mood.

“Turn that off,” Connor snaps. Then, a few seconds later, like he’s just remembered that Jared’s his friend so he technically has to be nice, he adds, “Please.”

“You got it.”

Neither of them speak again until they’re in Jared’s room. Or, to be more precise, Jared finally takes it upon himself to break a silence that’s less awkward and more downright _unnerving_ , as Connor wordlessly sits down on his regular armchair, folding himself up until he looks scarily small and vulnerable.

“Cool! Right.” He knows he’s semi-consciously putting on an overly cheery voice and it’s even annoying _him_ so God knows what effect it must be having on Connor, but he can’t stop. “What are we doing today?”

Connor places a bundle of worksheets on the desk in front of him.

“Jeez. That’s a lot.” Too much to cover in two hours, for sure, especially when Connor’s being… like this.

“It’s all the work I missed earlier in the week,” Connor murmurs, every word sounding like an impossible effort. “Mrs Walker started a new chapter of the book on Monday.”

The “ _and now I have no fucking clue what’s going on_ ” is implicit.

Jared leafs through the worksheets.

“Huh. Trig functions,” he says, trying to keep his voice as light as he can even though there are an entire fire department’s worth of sirens going off in his head right now because Jesus Christ, Connor freaking _sucks_ at trigonometry, and this very much feels like a deliberate cruel joke that the universe is playing on him on an already profoundly crappy day.

Connor doesn’t respond.

Jared takes a deep breath. “Okay. So, like, what do you remember from the first trig chapter? Because this is all based on that, so maybe if we recap…”

Still nothing.

“...Or we can get right into the new stuff?” he tries, fixing Connor with a stiff grin.

Connor shrugs.

“Just… whatever,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I don’t care.”

So Jared decides to start with the new stuff, the result of some deeply convoluted train of thought that tells him that Connor _might_ find a recap patronizing, and that _might_ send him spiralling into one of his difficult to explain but equally difficult to ignore paranoid meltdowns, and that’s absolutely _not_ what either of them need right now. He’s pretty sure that Connor’s not taking in any of what he’s saying, but he keeps talking anyway, because it sure beats the oppressive silence that would be filling the room otherwise.

“Does that make sense?” he says once he’s finished summarising.

“I think so,” Connor mumbles. His delivery is deeply unconvincing, but Jared gives him the benefit of the doubt anyway.

“Sweet. So we’d better get going on these questions, right?”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I guess.”

And there’s the faintest hint of an ironic smile, a softening of the eyes, the tiniest spark of life.

But it’s a spark that’s extinguished pretty much as soon as Connor gets to work. His reactions to the questions in front of him are totally different to what Jared’s come to expect over the past couple of months. Instead of getting worked up or stroppy, or, in more recent weeks, making sarcastic, self-deprecating jokes every time he fucks up or doesn’t understand something, he just stares quietly, almost blankly, at the paper in front of him, flicking at the ring on his right middle finger more out of habit than out of any apparent conscious desire to fidget.

“Okay,” Jared says after what feels like an interminable silence. “So this one.” He points at the very first question. “You’re finding the period of the function, right? Like I just showed you. It’s _super_ easy.”

Connor just keeps staring at the page. Honestly, it seems more like he’s just staring into space, and the worksheet happens to be in the way.

“Dude. Come on,” Jared says after a second. “You’re not going to be able to like, telepathically beam the answer directly from your mind onto the page. You’ve got to actually write it down.”

Connor bites his lip, not reacting to the quip at all.

“Okay.” Jared takes a deep breath and prepares to backtrack. “Do you think you can just _tell_ me the answer to this first question?”

Connor continues staring at the page, his eyebrows now furrowed slightly in concentration.

“I-” he says, after several seconds.

“Yeah?”

Connor shakes his head.

“Come _on_ ,” Jared says again, a small hint of frustration creeping into his voice despite his best efforts.

There’s another few seconds of silence.

Then, far louder than anything else he’s said all day, Connor exclaims, “I just don’t _get_ it, alright?”

And then his face crumples, and he bursts into tears.

Jared’s heart stops.

Connor crying shouldn’t, in itself, be a surprising thing. Especially until midway through ninth grade, Connor sobbing at school was pretty much a daily occurrence, to the point where you could practically count on hearing someone jeer “Aw, look, Connor Murphy’s _crying_!” the same way you could count on the sun rising and setting. Jared could go on listing examples all day. First grade, when a girl borrowed a crayon from Connor but broke it by coloring too roughly. Fourth grade, when a stray kickball hit him in the face during recess. Seventh grade, when he just started bawling in the middle of class for no discernible reason but whatever the problem was it made him cry so hard he actually had to go and throw up. Freshman year, when some guy got mad that Connor was beating him in the pacer test in gym so he crossed lanes and slammed into him, sending Connor crashing to the ground face first, and he didn’t get up for so long that everyone thought he’d broken his back or something. And those were only the more _notable_ incidents. For every pacer test fiasco there were twenty other times when a teacher just had to gently guide a sniffling Connor out of their classroom, shielding him from the taunts of people who still somehow thought this was some kind of marvellous novelty.

Then, in the spring of freshman year, Connor suddenly vanished for a month. The rumors were widespread and varied, ranging from a short-lived stint at boarding school to Connor running away from home to him being sent to juvie for straight up killing a man. Jared never found out the actual reason, and it’s not something he’s planning on asking Connor about any time soon. But whatever the cause of his sudden absence, when he finally returned to school it was like something had shifted within him. Like he was brittle rather than _fragile_ now. Harder, harsher, prone to snapping rather than shattering. Now, when Connor cries, it’s invariably hot, angry tears, accompanied by him kicking his chair over or cursing out teachers or storming out of class. Way more dramatic, and somehow even easier to mock, than him sobbing softly at the back of the room because nobody wanted to work with him on a group project or whatever. Because now people can call Connor Murphy _crazy_ rather than just _sad_.

Long story short, Jared’s seen Connor cry so many times he’s literally lost count. But that doesn’t prepare him for the way that, right now, Connor curls into himself like he used to do all those years ago, hiding his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

And it certainly doesn’t give him any hints on how to react.

If Connor was Evan, because that’s the only other person whose emotional breakdowns he’s ever really had to deal with, Jared would probably just make some dumb joke to lighten the mood, sort of but not _really_ at the other guy’s expense, half-jokingly tell him to chill out, try and find some sort of quick, easy, practical solution to the whole situation so he can hide just how much watching other people cry makes him feel like someone’s twisting his insides into suffocating knots. But Connor very much is _not_ Evan. He’s volatile, scared in a cornered animal sort of way, always searching, _grasping_ for the smallest piece of evidence that everyone’s just as cruel as he suspects.

There’s no way out of this other than being terrifyingly straightforward.

The armchair is just about big enough for two people to fit on, if they squeeze up, and Connor’s made himself so small that Jared finds it pretty easy to sit down next to him, looping one arm around Connor’s shoulder as he goes.

“It’s okay,” Jared whispers, even though he has no what’s really up or if anything’s remotely okay at all but it feels sort of like the kind of thing he should be saying right now. “It’s okay.”

Connor shakes his head. Makes a noise that sounds like it could be _No, it’s not_ if he was even close to capable of speech right now.

So Jared adds, “I’m here.” Even though it’s a stupid, limp statement that doesn’t really _mean_ anything, and he’s not sure if his presence is even remotely close to what Connor wants or needs right now but he doesn’t know what the fuck else he can do or say.

With another whimper that isn’t quite a word, Connor lurches forward to bury his head in Jared’s shoulder, and, almost instinctively, Jared wraps his other arm around Connor and pulls him into a close embrace.

It’s only now, as Connor almost melts into his arms, that Jared realises he’s never really made prolonged physical contact with Connor, like, _ever_ . Briefly brushing his hair back out of his eyes or placing one hand on his arm or whatever is nothing compared to this, to holding Connor so tight that he can _feel_ his heart pounding, feel every pained gasp for breath, every shaking exhale, as if they’re coming from an extension of his own body. It’s almost impossible to describe the feeling in his stomach right now, somewhere between the proverbial butterflies and someone churning spoiled butter, as he rubs Connor’s back and Connor sobs into his shoulder.

Because it’s not like he can _really_ have this. He can’t ever be close to Connor in the way that he wants. _This_ , twisted and painful and uncomfortable as it is, is as close as he can get, and he hates the part of him, small but obstinate, that wishes they could stay like this forever.

Nonetheless, several minutes later, when Connor’s sobs have finally subsided into faint sniffles, Jared tentatively breaks out of the hug.

“Hey,” he says, in a voice that’s so soft it feels totally unfamiliar to him. “How about we give the tutoring a miss for today?”

“Right. Yeah.” Connor wipes his eyes and, to Jared’s alarm, starts reaching for his stuff. His voice is still wobbly, precarious, like he’s an emotional Jenga tower that could still come crashing down at any second. “It’s fine, you’re right, I should go-”

“Hey, no, that’s not what I meant,” Jared says. Before he can stop himself he reaches out for Connor’s wrist. Connor stops dead, looking from his arm to Jared with bleary, confused eyes. “I just meant, like. How about we just sort of forget math and chill for the rest of the afternoon? We still have, like, three movies to get through from that list we were checking out on Evan’s birthday.”

“Wait. Really?” Connor frowns.

“Yeah. Come on, I’m not going to, like, kick you out onto the streets five seconds after you’ve stopped crying.” (Connor hasn’t really stopped crying, silent tears still welling up in those tired brown eyes of his, but Jared figures he might as well try to spare him a _little_ bit of dignity.)

Connor looks, momentarily, as if he’s trying to figure out a loophole, some sort of hidden meaning in what Jared’s saying. Then he wipes his eyes, mumbles something that sounds vaguely like “Okay”, and settles back down.

“So what’s up, anyway?” Jared says. “Do you want to… uh… talk about it?”

Connor shakes his head. “It’s just not been a great week.”

“Well, tell me about it.” Jared shrugs. Dares to shuffle a little closer, until he’s forced to slip one arm around Connor’s shoulders again because it’s that or have his hand skim uncomfortably close to the poor guy’s _ass_ , which is simply not the appropriate mood right now, or _ever_ , really. “I had a great time with you on Thursday. And you seemed, like, really happy before the weekend. So something _has_ to have happened.”

Connor draws his knees up to his chest.

“No. Nothing happened. Not really.” He looks up to the ceiling, a small, wry smile flickering across his features. “Sometimes things are just shit, and I can’t explain it.”

“I wish I _could_ ,” he adds a few seconds later. “Maybe then… I don’t know.”

He doesn’t really need to finish the sentence. The conclusion goes unspoken, hanging in the air, filling the room with a strange, sad longing.

“Do you wanna, like, go downstairs?” Jared says, in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. “Because, no offence, but I’m in _legitimate_ agony squeezed up on this freaking chair.”

“I’d rather stay here,” Connor says. And then, that typical ‘I’m not used to asking things of other people’ uncertainty creeping in, “If that’s okay.”

“Okay, well, can we at least sit on…” Shit. They are _not_ spoiled for choice. “...The bed, or something?”

Luckily, it seems like Connor’s still way too mentally exhausted to even attempt to read into that proposition, because he just nods, shuffling away from Jared and maneuvering himself out of the armchair.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jared says, just in case he didn’t already feel like he’s initiating a hookup. “I’ll be back in a sec. Okay?”

Spaghetti is, thankfully, pretty easy to locate when Jared gets downstairs, curled up fast asleep on the couch in the living room. She stirs as Jared approaches, looking up at him with that same disgruntled ‘I still remember how you betrayed me so don’t even try it’ expression she’s been defaulting to ever since she got back from the vet last week.

“Heeeey, Spag,” Jared says, sliding one hand under her abdomen in an attempt to pick her up. “C’mon, I’ve got a job for you.”

Spaghetti makes an extremely angry growling noise and latches onto the arm of the sofa.

“Come _on_ , you asshole, it’s _important_ ,” he mutters, prising Spaghetti’s claws away from the couch. “I’m _not_ having Connor lose his shit again because he thinks you hate him now.”

Whether Spaghetti actually has the linguistic capacity to understand any of that or not, she does reluctantly relent, at least, and lets Jared hoist her into his arms and carry her up the stairs with only a moderate amount of protestful wiggling on her part.

When Jared returns to his room, Connor is sitting on the bed with his back against the wall. He still looks desperately vulnerable.

“Here,” Jared says, plopping a still-struggling Spaghetti down rather unceremoniously onto Connor’s lap. “Spaghetti therapy.”

Connor smiles weakly, and Spaghetti nuzzles into his chest.

“See? She can tell you’re upset,” Jared says, clambering onto the bed and sitting down what he hopes is an appropriate distance away from Connor.

Connor doesn’t say anything in response, instead focusing intently on Spaghetti. Jared watches his hands as he strokes the top of Spaghetti’s head. Several of his nails are bitten down to the quick, the skin around them red and irritated, and Jared can’t help but wonder whether this is a cause or the effect of the lack of nail polish (which makes his nails look weirdly naked, a bizarre and inexplicable added layer of vulnerability). Beyond the purely physical, though, Jared finds himself strangely enraptured by the gentleness and hesitancy with which Connor’s hands move, like he’s scared that he’ll hurt Spaghetti if he’s too firm, so at odds with the commonly touted image of him as some sort of violent psychopath. He can’t help but feel like everything he knows about Connor at this point contradicts everything he _thought_ he knew.

After a couple of minutes on Connor’s lap, Spaghetti decides instead to sandwich herself between him and Jared on the mattress as some kind of irritatingly cute feline cockblock. One of Connor’s hands follows her across to carry on petting her, and Jared realizes that, if he so wished, he could reach out and take it right now, lace their fingers together, sit here and marvel at how suddenly intertwined they’d feel. But that would require them to be living in some utopian mirror world where the action wouldn’t scare Connor off entirely, so instead he keeps himself occupied by hopping off the bed and grabbing his laptop from the desk.

He starts by pulling up the list of shitty Netflix horror movies from Evan’s birthday party, but Connor mumbles self-consciously that he’s not really in the mood for anything like that right now. They end up watching _Chopped_ instead, and the chef Connor decides to root for gets chopped after the first round, and Connor hides his head in his hands and groans that he can’t get _anything_ right today so Jared just closes the stream entirely because Jesus Christ, he’s not letting Connor start crying _again_ just because some stranger on TV couldn’t figure out how to fit chocolate-coated coffee beans into an appetizer. So, as a third and final resort, Jared puts on a season of _The Great British Bake Off_ that he’s already seen and which he deems sufficiently wholesome, and although he doesn’t outright spoiler Connor he tries very hard to subtly steer him towards supporting the eventual winner.

They sit there for almost two hours, just far enough away from each other that Connor can spend the entire time not really acknowledging Jared’s presence, save for shaking his head and rolling his eyes on the odd occasion that Jared tries to add a few terrible baking-themed puns of his own into the mix. At least he’s stopped crying completely now, although there’s still a certain fragility in the way he’s holding himself, pressed up against the wall with his chin resting on his chest like he’s trying to see just how little space he can take up.

Midway through the Showstopper round of their second episode (Bread Week, a classic), Jared says to Connor, “Aren’t you glad we’re doing this in- _bread_ of math?”

Then he adds, “Fuck, that did _not_ work as intended.”

Connor responds by sighing and hauling himself up off the bed.

“Aw, come _on_ , that wasn’t _that_ bad,” Jared says. “Come back!”

“Oh my God, no, it’s not the- just - I should probably head off,” Connor says, sounding like he’s trying very hard to come off totally casual. “Seeing as I’m already late home. Again.”

“Oh. Yeah. No worries,” Jared says, although he is, still, a little worried. He can’t help it.

Then he adds, “Do you need a ride home?” at the same time as Connor quietly says, “Also, that pun definitely _was_ that bad.”

Connor takes a second to parse out Jared’s part of the conversation before shaking his head. “I was thinking I might just - I’ll call my mom.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. If she brings me home then maybe my dad won’t start a shitstorm.” Connor scoffs. “And I _really_ can’t deal with him starting a shitstorm right now.”

“Maybe he’d understand?”

Connor shakes his head. “No. He wouldn’t.”

Then he excuses himself, and slips into the hall to phone his mom. Jared knows he shouldn’t, but he eavesdrops anyway.

“Hey - hi, Mom.” Connor’s voice, muffled by the closed door between him and Jared, still wavers slightly. “No, I’m fine. I promise. Yeah. I know I’m late. I just - can you come and get me from Jared’s? No, no, nothing’s wrong. I mean - it’s not _him_. Yeah, no, he’s been - it’s fine. I’ll be fine. Yeah. Love you too.”

When Connor comes back into the bedroom, there’s a trace of a smile on his face.

“She said she’ll be ten minutes.”

“Oh, cool.” Jared gestures toward his laptop screen. “We probably have time to finish this episode, if you-”

“It’s fine.” Connor shakes his head dismissively.

“Wow, so you’re _not_ a fan of _The Great British Bake Off_ , the absolute pinnacle of unfiltered wholesome content? You uncultured swine,” Jared quips. Then, because he’s not totally sure if Connor’s in the mood for joking around yet, he adds, “I’m kidding.”

“I know,” Connor says, reaching for the worksheets still strewn across Jared’s desk. “No, I just. Need to get all my shit together before my mom gets here. Literally _and_ metaphorically.”

“Actually, can you show me those math questions again?” Jared says, shutting his laptop and getting up to join Connor.

Connor falters. “I thought you said-”

“Shit, don’t fr-” Nope. Sensitive word choices. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna make you _do_ them now, or anything.”

“Oh. Right.” Connor waves one hand dismissively in Jared’s direction. “Sorry, I’m-”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t start saying you’re an idiot or something, because you’re _not_. Just give me the work.”

“Sorry,” Connor says again.

“Jesus, stop apologizing. You’re worse than _Evan_ sometimes. Which is saying something.”

In lieu of saying anything else, apology or not, Connor hands Jared the worksheets. Jared takes careful pictures of each set of questions on his phone, before handing the stack of papers back.

“I’ll do these for you tonight,” he says, and Connor does an honest to God visible double take. “Not, like, perfectly, or Mrs Walker will get suspicious. But I’ll try and get you, like, a B. And then I’ll send you pictures of my answers and you can just copy them out on the actual worksheets and hand them in tomorrow.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Jared shrugs. “I mean, I _am_ gonna have to actually teach you this crap at some point because otherwise I’d just be a bad tutor, but for now? Don’t worry about it, bro.”

“God. Thank you. Seriously.” Connor pauses for a second, looking contemplative. “Also, maybe make it a C.”

“You really love selling yourself short, don’t you, Connor?” Jared says, but there’s nothing remotely snarky in his delivery.

Connor stares back at him, eyebrows furrowed. It looks like he doesn’t know how to respond.

Then he turns away from Jared and finishes gathering up his belongings in silence.

A few minutes later, his phone - which he’d left face up on the desk - lights up.

“My mom’s here,” he says, glancing across at the notification.

“Oh, sweet.”

Connor nods, putting his phone back in the pocket of his hoodie.

“So I guess I’ll, um. Probably see you tomorrow?” he says, his delivery falling somewhere between reluctance and uncertainty.

“Well, jeez, don’t force yourself to come into school _just_ to see me,” Jared chuckles, flapping one hand at Connor in an exaggerated sort of _Aw, shucks_ gesture.

“What?” Connor splutters, so offended at the suggestion that he actually goes red.

“It’s a _joke_ ,” Jared clarifies.

“Oh. Yeah.” Connor shakes his head. “Of course.”

“For real, though? If you still feel shitty tomorrow morning  you should totally just tell your parents you puked or something.”

“That won’t work,” Connor says, rolling his eyes. “They know all my excuses by now.”

He shuts his eyes, and his bottom lip trembles just a little.

“Hey,” says Jared, as a physical sensation of _Oh fuck!_ surges through his body. “Come here.”

He pulls Connor into another brief hug. Admittedly, it’s a total Bro Hug (awkward pat on the back and all), a physical declaration of “no homo!” just to offset the terrifying intimacy of how closely Connor was clinging to him earlier, but it still sets off a whole freaking Fourth of July fireworks display in Jared’s chest.

Connor pulls away first, moving to open the door.

“I really have to - bye,” he says, voice still sort of choked, and his free hand jerks upwards in a twitchy half-wave.

“Hey,” Jared blurts out.

Connor turns around, one hand still gripping the door handle.

“You know how you said the other day that you might wanna... hang out on a weekend some time?”

Connor nods. He looks slightly stunned.

“Well, how about this weekend?” Jared says. It feels like someone’s squeezing his heart like a grotesquely counterproductive stress toy. “Y’know, like, no pressure if you’re still feeling like crap. But it might be nice to just… do shit. Something to… take your mind off things.”

Connor still looks confused for a brief moment. Then, he smiles. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Just text me, yeah? Let me know.”

“I will.”

Jared practically has to physically restrain himself before he responds with ‘It’s a date.’

“Thanks, by the way,” Connor says with a sniffle, filling the silence before Jared gets a chance to shove his foot in his mouth. “For letting me - for not being an asshole about - for _everything_.”

“Any time.”

And then Connor offers him a last, still sort of watery, smile, and heads out the door.

Jared watches through the living room window as Connor hurries down the porch steps.

There’s a gray crossover parked outside the front door, and as Connor approaches his mom gets out of the driver’s side door, hurrying across to meet him on the sidewalk. Jared watches as she draws Connor into a hug, pulling away after a few seconds to cup his face with one hand and say something that Jared can’t even begin to lipread, and he keeps observing, hovering by the window, as she guides him across to the car, and Connor sits down in the passenger seat, resting his head against the window, his face barely illuminated by the dome light overhead.

He stays there until the headlamps of Cynthia Murphy’s car have disappeared into the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, as ever, and eternal thanks to my wonderful pals rachel (@evol_love) and anna (@phonecallfromgod)
> 
> comments & the like are always appreciated!
> 
> also follow me on tumblr @coniello for absolutely terrible content


	12. Chapter 12

Connor manages to make it to school again the next day. He still doesn’t really seem _okay_ , exactly, but he does at least seem slightly less likely to start sobbing at the slightest provocation.

And it looks like he’s actually showered, which is probably a good sign.

He still keeps himself to himself pretty much all morning, slipping into English class right as the bell goes and disappearing as soon as the period ends (although he does manage to answer a question when called on, much to Mrs Talley’s thinly-veiled surprise). Jared doesn’t actually manage to talk to him at all until a few hours later, when he leaves his third period math class to find Connor hovering outside the classroom.

“Hey,” Jared says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah.” Connor smiles faintly, fishing that bundle of worksheets from yesterday out of his bag. “I was just dropping off some of that work for Mrs Walker. Thanks, by the way. Again. For doing all this for me.”

“No sweat.”

Jared’s about to say something else - he’s not sure _exactly_ what, but it’s probably going to be along the lines of ‘How are you holding up, bro?’ - when Mrs Walker pokes her head out of the door.

“Hiya, Connor,” she says. “Feeling any better today?”

“A little,” Connor says, in that endearingly polite tone of voice he saves for the handful of authority figures he’s not permanently pissed off at. “Thank you.”

He glances across at Jared and smiles again.

“How about you come on in and bring me up to speed on your work?” Mrs Walker says to Connor, beckoning him inside.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” Jared asks, and Connor nods in response.

As soon as Connor reemerges from Mrs Walker’s room a few minutes later, looking surprisingly chipper considering his recent exposure to math, Jared launches back into conversation.

“Okay, so hopefully Evan’s actually managed to save seats for us in the cafeteria this time, if not we can maybe try Zoe again or the three of us can go find somewhere else to eat or-”

“Actually,” Connor cuts in. “I - I was going to ask if - uh.”

He pauses, clearly figuring out how to ask whatever he’s about to ask in the least demanding way possible.

“I don’t want to eat with Evan today,” he says eventually.

“Huh. Okay?” Jared can’t hide the incredulity in his voice. What the fuck is going on, he wonders - did Connor twig that Evan was looking out for him in History class yesterday and take inexplicable offense at it, as only Connor could?

“Sorry. It’s really nothing personal,” Connor mumbles, sheepish. “I like Evan, but… I really still can’t do _people_ right now.”

“I’m a person,” Jared points out.

“You’re _different_ ,” Connor says, with such certainty and conviction that it almost seems like he didn’t have to think about it at all.

Jared’s heart stumbles in his chest.

Before he can say anything in response - not that he can even think of _what_ to say to that - Connor takes a step backward.

“I mean - just -” he stammers, suddenly frantic. “We’ve been - we’ve known each other longer and I - you know what, I’m just going to - I’m going to eat alone somewhere.”

“Hey, no, what?”

“I have to go,” Connor says, his voice more like a gasp than anything else, and he breaks away faster than Jared can stop him, disappearing down the hallway at a pace close to a sprint

And so Jared ends up eating lunch with Evan after all, although he’s not exactly good company considering his brain’s capable of nothing but replaying Connor’s words over and over - _you’re different i have to go you’re different we’ve known each other longer i have to go you’re different, you’re different, you’re different_.

Normally he’d give Connor a little more space after a weird incident like that, but something about this time ( _you’re different,_ this _is different_ ) makes him decide to check up on him at the start of Chemistry instead.

He makes his way over to Connor and Alana’s bench when he gets to class, calling out “Hey, man!” as he goes and shooting a dumb wave and cheesy grin in Connor’s direction. When Jared’s still a few paces away, a stormy expression falls over Connor’s face, and he launches himself out of his seat and marches over to one of the cabinets of lab equipment.

“Oh my God, _seriously_?” Jared exclaims.

If Connor _does_ hear him, he does a very good job of pretending he doesn’t.

Alana watches Connor for a moment before looking back to Jared.

“What did you want to ask him?” she says, painfully earnest as always.

“It doesn’t matter. I wanted to talk to _him_ , specifically, but I guess we’re just not talking at all now, or whatever.” Jared lowers his voice, desperate to avoid a repeat of that _last_ Chemistry eavesdropping incident. “He’s fucking impossible sometimes.”

He glances across the room at the exact moment that Connor looks back at him. For a fraction of a second, they make eye contact, before Connor snaps his head away and begins a deeply unconvincing pantomime of making a very careful choice between two identical beakers.

Jared looks back at Alana and inclines his head in Connor’s direction as if to say, ‘See? What the fuck is _that_?’

“Whatever you wanted to say, I can pass it on to him,” Alana says, unperturbed. There’s an extraordinarily customer service-y smile on her face, like she’s Connor’s freaking receptionist now or something.

To be fair to her, it’s a very _effective_ customer service-y smile.

“Okay.” Jared exhales. “You know what. Fine. Can you please just tell him that I’m still down for hanging out at the weekend if he is? Tell him to text me. Because he’ll probably just ignore me if I message him first.”

“Sure,” Alana says, with a carefree little shrug.

“Sweet. I owe you one,” Jared says, and he turns to head back to his seat.

“You know, he definitely likes you,” Alana announces.

It takes everything in Jared’s power for him not to keel over on the spot.

“ _What_?” he splutters, turning back around very slowly.

Alana nods wisely. This time, the smile on her face is unmistakably genuine.

“Uh-huh. Connor and I, we’ve been… acquaintances for a while now. But _close_ acquaintances. So I can tell he’s not _actually_ angry at you. He’s just-”

“Playing hard to get?” Jared jokes, and then he realizes he doesn’t really _want_ it to be a joke, and he also realizes that Alana’s frowning at him the same way she frowns at a particularly hard question on a pop quiz when she’s 90% of the way to making a breakthrough, and he _also_ realizes that this would be a very good time for him to quit while he’s ahead.

“See you around,” he says, and speed walks back to his seat before he can do or say anything _else_ catastrophically stupid.

* * *

Naturally, despite what Jared can only assume were Alana’s best efforts, because she’s never half-assed any task in her life, Connor doesn’t text him that day. So, even though he knows he probably shouldn’t, Jared texts Connor _himself_ on Saturday morning.

 **Jared:** _Yo. Did you still want to do anything this weekend? Because the window of opportunity is closing fast. It’s only a matter of time until my mom snatches me up to spend all of tomorrow buying curtains or some shit_

He keeps his phone close by his side all day, but in vain. Still nothing.

On Sunday morning, shortly after waking up and coming to peace with the realization that he’s probably going to do nothing but stare pathetically at his phone all day, Jared finally hears from Connor after all.

 **Connor:** _hey_

 **Connor:** _sorry for being weird on friday_

 **Connor:** _and all last week really._

 **Connor:** _can i come to your place in like an hour_

Jared’s heart skips a beat. Which is totally embarrassing.

 **Jared:** _Yeah sure_

 **Jared:** _Also don’t sweat it bro_

 **Jared:** _:)_

He launches himself out of bed with way more energy than he’s had all weekend, and manages to get showered and dressed surprisingly quickly considering the knowledge of an imminent Connor interaction tends to make him overthink every aspect of his personal appearance. When he heads downstairs to get breakfast, his dad is already in the kitchen, all decked out in his most pointless chef’s finery and dancing along to the radio as he mixes pancake batter.

“Hey, Dad,” Jared says, opening the fridge and grabbing a carton of orange juice. “Connor’s coming over soon, so _please_ try not to humiliate either of us.”

“Really? That’s awesome, it’s been ages since I last saw him!” his dad exclaims, spooning batter into a pan to the beat of Blue Swede’s _Hooked on a Feeling_. “Tell him if he hurries he can join the pancake party.”

“Absolutely not calling it a pancake party, but sure,” Jared says with a grimace as he reaches for his phone.

 **Jared:** _If u get here earlier my dad’s making pancakes and he insists that you partake_

 **Connor:** _!!_

Oh God. Connor _must_ be feeling better.

The doorbell rings about fifteen minutes later, and Jared rushes to answer it despite his dad’s enthusiastic cries of “I’ll get it!”.

Connor’s standing on the porch looking as awkward and out of place as ever, but also looking considerably more put-together than he has done all week.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry again for being weird the other day, I was just-”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Jared says. It’s only after he interrupts that he realizes he did so because, despite years of training at Not Getting His Hopes Up, he’s starting to develop his own theory about what Connor _was just_ doing and feeling and all that jazz, and he desperately wants it to be right.

Connor smiles.

“C’mon,” Jared adds. “My dad’s pancakes wait for no man. Especially not when Spaghetti’s on the prowl.”

“Hey, buddy,” Jared’s dad says as Connor pokes his head into the dining room.

Connor glances around as if he’s not totally sure that he’s the one being addressed here.

“Oh. Hi, Dr-” He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s trying to reboot the sentence. “Daniel?”

Jared’s dad laughs uproariously. “Dr Daniel? That’s a new one.”

Connor flushes scarlet, and Jared hisses, “ _Dad_. Be _nice_.”

“Feel free to take a seat, Connor,” Jared’s dad says. “There’s a fresh batch of Special Kleinman Recipe Pancakes coming right up.”

Jared sits down first, and although there’s still three empty chairs, Connor sits down in the same seat he took when he came to dinner all those weeks ago, directly opposite him. Once he’s settled he shrugs off his jacket (black denim, the kind of ultra-distressed that could only come from decades of wear and several different owners) and slings it over the back of his chair. Underneath, he’s wearing the same navy blue sweater he was wearing for his very first tutoring session. It still looks frustratingly soft.

“Got any fun plans for the day?” Jared’s dad says, smiling at the two of them and setting plates, cutlery, and napkins down at their respective places.

Jared glances across at Connor, who just shrugs.

“Going with the flow. I like it.” Jared’s dad says, before sighing a little too melodramatically. “I wish _I_ could go with the flow like you young whippersnappers. Instead I’ve got thirty papers to grade from my Intro to Geology class.”

“ _Ah_ ,” Jared says, with an understanding nod. “Isn’t that the class with the-”

“The flat earther?” he grimaces. “Sure is.”

“You have… a flat earther… taking your Intro to Geology class?” Connor says.

“The world is a mysterious place, kiddo,” Jared’s dad replies. “But it’s _also_ an undeniably round one. How many pancakes do you want?”

“Can I just have one, please?”

“You got it. All the more for me.”

Connor sits very stiffly as Jared’s dad serves him. He’s bouncing his leg under the table, brimming with a weird restless energy that sort of reminds Jared of when Alana has her hand up in class and is desperately awaiting an opportune moment to burst in with what she considers an extremely important question.

“How about I leave you two to finish off your breakfast in peace?” Jared’s dad - observant as ever - says with a smile.

He winks at Jared, who is _very_ relieved that Connor is too preoccupied with staring at his plate to notice, and slips away.

After a few seconds, Connor looks up and glances across the room, apparently checking that Jared’s dad is comfortably out of earshot.

“I don’t know if you had plans for today, or whatever,” he mumbles, turning his fork over and over in his hands. “But I - there was something I kind of wanted to do.”

“Awesome,” Jared replies. “Shoot.”

“This is going to sound really dumb,” Connor says. He’s actually sort of blushing, which is so unprecedented and so downright _cute_ that Jared feels his own face start to heat up in response. “But there’s this one place - I’ve been wanting to go for a while, but the thing is I don’t drive and I couldn’t really ask my parents to take me and-”

“ _Oh_ my God.” Jared shakes his head in mock disgust. “Dude, I’m _not_ chaperoning you to a sex shop.”

“...Can I _finish_?” Connor says, raising one eyebrow in perfect scathing judgement as Jared dissolves into helpless giggles at his own joke.

“Maybe the sex shop will help you out there,” Jared wheezes.

“Fuck you!” Connor leans across the table and smacks Jared with his napkin.

“Okay. Okay.” Jared takes a deep breath. “I’m calm.”

Connor doesn’t look especially convinced.

“ _Seriously_.”

“No, it’s actually…" Connor visibly steels himself for what he's about to say next. "It’s an orchard.”

“...An orchard,” Jared repeats incredulously.

Connor’s face darkens.

“You know what, fine,” he snaps, getting up and reaching for his jacket. “Fuck it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Dude. _Dude_. Stop.”

Without thinking, Jared reaches across the table and grabs Connor’s right wrist just as it reemerges from the sleeve of his jacket. Connor flinches away with an affronted glare, wrenching his arm out of Jared’s grip.

“Don’t do that.”

“Just sit down,” Jared hisses, very much desperate not to alert his parents to the brewing argument. “Oh my God.”

“Why?” Connor says, although to his credit he doesn’t make any further moves towards leaving.

“Because I wasn’t… like... laughing at you. Or whatever. You just… don’t exactly seem like a wholesome apple picking kinda guy. If you get my gist.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Are apples even in _season_ right now?” Jared continues, choosing not to answer Connor’s question because he’s not entirely sure there’s really any non-offensive accurate answer. “Isn’t that, like, a fall thing?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says, just thrown off enough that, although there’s still an undeniable tension in his voice, he does sound a little less angry.

“Look. I just want to know, like… why an _orchard_ , of all the fucking places?”

Connor tilts his head to one side, shrugs his shoulders a little. It’s like the movement deflates him, somehow, because when he finally replies what little anger remains in his voice feels like it’s suddenly directed inwards rather than out at Jared.

“Because I’ve been holed up in my room all week, and I wanted to get _out_ , and I’m not exactly a nature person most of the time but I used to go to this stupid orchard with - with my family, I used to go all the time when I was younger and, I don’t know. Like I said. I just felt like going back. And you can drive me there, and you said you wanted to hang out. So I thought it made sense.”

Then, his voice even smaller, even more self-conscious, he adds, “I know. I know it’s fucking stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” Jared says.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I can go.” He still doesn’t budge, though. Although Connor’s head is resolutely inclined toward the floor, Jared can still see two eyes anxiously peeking up at him through a curtain of dark brown hair.

He realizes, with a pang in his chest, that this is actually Connor’s roundabout way of asking for permission to stay. Or go to this orchard, or whatever. Like some sort of _test_ , almost.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“What’s it called?” Jared asks, deliberately injecting a false brightness into his voice.

“What?” Connor looks at him properly now, a small frown crossing his features.

“This orchard. What’s it called?”

Connor sighs, clearly still steeling himself to be laughed out of the room or something.

“Autumn Smiles Apple Orchard,” he says cautiously.

The name is so unexpectedly, delightfully kitschy that hearing it come out of Connor’s mouth almost _does_ startle a laugh out of Jared.

“Okay,” he says instead, putting all the effort he can into keeping a straight face. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts to type. “Autumn… Smiles…”

“It won’t show up on Google Maps,” Connor interrupts, waving one hand dismissively. The movement’s still a little tense. “It closed years ago.”

“Okay, okay, wait.” Jared holds up his hand. “So we’re breaking and entering?”

“It’s basically a field with some trees in it. It barely counts as breaking and entering.”

“Could we get arrested, though?” Jared presses.

“What the fuck kind of cops are going to be patrolling an abandoned orchard on a Sunday morning?”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Okay, fine,” Connor sighs. “Theoretically, _technically_ , we’re breaking and entering.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s _fine,_ ” Connor assures him. “It’s in the middle of fucking nowhere, right up near Ellison State Park, so worst case scenario is we get busted by some overzealous park ranger and we tell them we got lost hiking.”

“Okay. Whatever. But the bail money’s on you if we do get arrested.”

Connor’s mouth twitches in a soft, _you’re-such-a-fucking-idiot_ sort of smile.

“Now sit down and finish your pancake, alright?” Jared says. “Or you’ll hurt my dad’s feelings.”

Once Connor’s finished eating, he gives Jared some general directions that he can key into his phone’s GPS as a starting point and they head off, out of town and down a long, twisting country road that’s not overly familiar to Jared, as generally averse to anything approaching The Great Outdoors as he is. They drive for several minutes in silence (Connor, apparently, still doesn’t trust Jared’s idea of good roadtrip music after the Kesha Incident of a few weeks ago); it’s weirdly blissful, considering how fraught and fragile overall _strange_ this past week has been for both of them.

“Wait, can we pull over here?” Connor blurts out all of a sudden, sounding alarmingly panicked.

Jared slams on the brakes and screeches into the parking lot of some old-timey little ice cream parlor that they were just about to pass.

“What’s wrong?” he says, looking Connor over for the telltale signs of an oncoming meltdown but struggling to find any.

Connor just looks confused.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, looking at Jared like his concern is completely ridiculous and unfounded despite the fact that he hasn’t exactly been a paragon of emotional stability over the past week. “I just wanted to stop here.”

Jared takes a closer look at the ice cream parlor. The building is painted a tasteful shade of mint green, save for white windowpanes and gables that look almost _too_ perfectly clean. One of the front windows is taken up almost entirely by a blackboard on which the names of an absolutely absurd array of ice cream flavors are written, accompanied by cutesy little drawings of various fruits. A hand-painted sign above the door reads, in swirly calligraphy, “ _À La Mode_ ”.

“This place kind of looks like it’s legally not allowed to serve goths, to be honest with you, buddy,” Jared says.

“I’m not a - shut _up_ ,” Connor says, exasperated.

“Just saying. Doesn’t really look like your scene.”

“I used to go here all the time, actually. With my parents. And Zoe,” Connor says surprisingly softly, apparently too gripped by nostalgia all of a sudden to really engage in any kind of banter. “Whenever we went to the orchard, we’d stop off here first. It was kind of a tradition.”

Jared hums a snippet of _Fiddler on the Roof_ that earns him nothing but a blank stare.

“So can we…?” Connor trails off, looking at Jared with that same anxious look from earlier that seems, as far as he can tell, to translate to _I’m pushing the limits of how much I think you’ll tolerate me_.

“Hell yeah. I’m always down for ice cream,” Jared says, and he’s out of the car before Connor can fucking melt him with those weirdly haunting puppy-dog eyes of his.

A little bell chimes as Jared pushes the door open, because of _course_ it does, and the cashier - a middle-aged woman with curly, graying hair and rosy cheeks, dressed in almost absurdly retro-looking waitress garb the same color as the building - greets them with a warm smile.

“Hey there,” she chirps, more like she’s welcoming old family members than two random teenage boys who probably could not look more collectively out of place in this establishment. “What can I get you kids?”

“Hi,” Connor says. There goes that Polite Talking To Adults voice again. “I, um. I haven’t been here for a while, do you still do those really big sundaes? The ones with all the toppings?”

“We sure do,” the cashier responds, still beaming.

She looks between Jared and Connor.

“Do you want one to share?” she adds, and her smile finally shifts, morphing into the utterly unmistakable fixed grin of a straight person trying very hard to prove that they are Totally Chill And Comfortable With The Gays.

Oh, God. She _totally_ thinks they’re a couple.

“Oh, oh, no, it’s _fine_ ,” Jared splutters. “I was just gonna - I’m just getting a milkshake.”

“Are you sure?” Connor says, very earnestly. “The ice cream here’s really good.”

“Yeah. I’m still full on pancakes, to be honest with you, bro.” Jared hits the _bro_ a little harder and louder than necessary, giving the cashier a pointed look at the same time.

“That’s why _I_ only had one,” Connor mutters, with a teasing, borderline old-married-couple tone that practically immediately negates Jared’s desperate attempts to assert the platonicity of their relationship. “What flavor do you want?”

“ _Oh my God_ , I can order for myself, _dude_ ,” Jared hisses.

“It’s _fine_ , I don’t mind,” Connor insists, fishing in his pocket for his wallet.

Jared can already tell he won’t budge, so he reluctantly lets Connor buy him a peanut butter milkshake and tries to ignore how this overinvested straight ally of a cashier-slash-waitress is _blatantly_ cooing over them.

As soon as Connor’s done paying, Jared slides into a booth that’s just far enough from the counter that they can’t be overheard, but which also leaves them sufficiently visible to prove that they’re not going to start making out or whatever.

The waitress comes over a few minutes later with their food and drink, and Jared thanks her repeatedly and enthusiastically in the hopes that it will somehow encourage her to leave the two of them alone for the rest of their visit.

“I honestly didn’t even know this place was still open,” Connor says, as he digs his spoon into a sundae approximately the size of his head. He’s definitely addressing Jared, but the waitress lingers to eavesdrop anyway. “My dad always used to say that most of their business probably came from people going to the orchard, so I assumed that when that closed down…”

“Wow,” the waitress chimes in. “It _has_ been a while since you came here, huh?”

Connor nods sheepishly.

“Seven years, I think,” he murmurs.

“What brings you back this way?”

Jared and Connor look at each other in alarm.

“We’re - um - we’re visiting - my grandparents,” Connor splutters. Jared practically has to suppress a shriek of pure, crushing despair at the fact that Connor probably couldn’t have produced a more couple-y sounding lie if he’d _tried_. “They live in… really nearby, so this is on the way, and I thought-”

“I’m _not_ visiting his grandparents,” Jared cuts in. “I’m just… running errands. Also… really nearby. Same town. _Wacky_ coincidence. Wanted to help out a buddy. Giving him a ride.”

The waitress nods slowly, clearly not particularly impressed with the sum of their abysmal lying abilities.

“Well, I hope you boys have a lovely day,” she says diplomatically. “Enjoy your food.”

* * *

Although _À La Mode_ isn’t an unpleasant culinary experience by any means - in fact, that milkshake could be the best one Jared’s ever tasted - neither of them are particularly keen to outstay their welcome. Connor, blissfully oblivious to the _actual_ reason for the waitress’s strange behavior toward them, quietly voices his concern that she’s guessed they’re returning to the orchard, and Jared neither wants to set him straight or let him fester in paranoia, so he proposes that they make a move the second Connor’s finished eating. Which is probably just objectively even _more_ suspicious, but it seems to placate Connor, at least.

They drive for another ten to fifteen minutes - still in silence, still somehow not remotely uncomfortable - before Connor blurts out “Turn here!” at an intersection with some tiny little side road that very quickly devolves into a wooded dirt track. After another minute or so, they reach a clearing containing a sprawling, barn-like structure and a parking lot that was probably intentionally fairly rustic to begin with, but after several years of neglect is starting to be overtaken by nature entirely.

Jared parks right in the far corner by the building, under the shade of a tall tree, hoping it will keep his car as out of sight as possible just in case this happens to be the day that the local police department also decide to check out some abandoned orchard for the hell of it. The rest of the perimeter of the orchard appears to have been closed off by a stretch of tall chain link fencing that looks like it was chosen more for economy and ease of installation than any kind of security or longevity, given that even from a distance it’s clearly beginning to rust and buckle from exposure to the elements.

Connor’s very still all of a sudden, looking out at a sign a few feet away (it reads **_AUTUMN SMILES APPLE ORCHARD_ ** in faded letters, with what looks like a list of directions - the words “Entrance and Gift Shop”, accompanied by an arrow pointing to the barn beside them, are still just about visible - mostly covered up by another, slightly less worn-looking sign that simply says **_NO TRESPASSING_** ). Jared begins to worry that, maybe, heading to an abandoned, dilapidated reminder of childhood might not actually be the best thing for Connor’s mental health after all.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jared asks cautiously.

“What?” Connor shakes his head as if coming out of a daze. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s just sort of weird, being back here.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“I’m fine, though.” Connor looks him in the eye, a picture of calm. “I promise.”

They get out of the car and start heading towards the building. It’s almost entirely boarded up, save for one window off to the side that looks like it’s been deliberately broken at some point. It’s a little too high up, and probably slightly too small, for either of them to clamber through with ease, even disregarding the ugly shards of glass still protruding from every side of the windowpane.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re not gonna make me climb through there,” Jared says.

Connor shakes his head, squinting up at the roof.

“I think there’s a camera there,” he says, pointing just above the boarded-up doorway. He seems way more self-assured than usual, like he’s in his comfort zone all of a sudden. “I’m not sure if it actually _works_ \- it doesn’t look like anyone gives enough of a shit about this place for that - but we should probably go around anyway to be safe. There’s gotta be a hole in the fence somewhere that we can get through.”

“Wait.” Jared looks at Connor suspiciously. “Do you do this a _lot_?”

Connor shrugs.

“I… you could say I _dabbled_ in urban exploration last summer.” He punctuates the word ‘dabbled’ with sarcastic air quotes and a roll of the eyes. “You know. Sneaking into abandoned buildings to take pictures and shit.”

“That sounds preposterously unsafe.”

Another shrug. “Yeah. It kind of is. But it was something to do.”

They keep walking, past the gift shop and what looks like it was probably once a children’s play area but has now been totally demolished save for a single rusty swing set, past rows and rows of apple trees that were probably once neat, but now some trees have fallen over or lost branches and others are still tied to stakes that they outgrew long ago, only exacerbating the eerie sense of disrepair that pervades the whole place. Connor walks a few steps ahead at all times, both because he’s busy looking for an entrypoint and because he’s naturally a faster walker than Jared anyway. Jared’s never seen him so in his element before.

The confidence suits him.

“We can get through here,” Connor says eventually, and he gestures to a part of the fence a few feet ahead of him that’s collapsed almost entirely, leaving a considerably smaller hurdle for them to clamber over.

“You first,” says Jared as he breaks into a completely undignified jog to close the last few yards of distance between them.

By the time he stops, Connor’s already on the other side, clambering over the tangle of wire netting on the ground that forms the final barrier between him and the plot of trees ahead.

Then his foot gets caught in a hole in the fence, and he trips forward with a totally undignified yelp, faceplanting into the overgrown grass below.

“Shit! Are you alright?” Jared hoists himself over the fence far quicker than he was expecting considering his near-total lack of athletic prowess. When he lands on the other side Connor is already scrambling upright.

“Fuck. Sorry,” Connor mutters, checking the palms of his hands for any sign of injury. “Yeah, I’m good, I think.”

“I thought you were supposed to be _good_ at this shit,” Jared jokes, giving the sleeve of Connor’s jacket an ineffectual little brush down.

“All I _technically_ said was I’d done it before,” Connor says.

“Oh, great, so my vague sense of reassurance that you wouldn’t get us both killed was completely unfounded.” Jared shakes his head just affectionately enough that he’s relieved Connor’s still mostly focused on brushing dirt off his jeans.

“I actually sprained my ankle falling through a step in some abandoned house last year,” Connor adds as they start to wade through the thick, tall grass. “I just had to limp out as far as I could and push my bike down the street so I could call my mom and pretend I’d fallen taking a corner too fast or some shit. I probably would have gotten away with it if I wasn’t, like, dusty from fucking around in a condemned building.”

“You’re really not filling me with hope for this experience.”

“This isn’t the same. I mean, now that we’re _in_ it’s more just like… taking a relaxing walk through nature.”

“Wow. Maybe you should have brought Evan instead. That’s way more his speed than mine.”

“I didn’t want to come here with Evan,” Connor says, surprisingly firmly.

Jared thinks he might not actually be imagining the unspoken ‘I wanted to come here with _you_.’

“Besides, he doesn’t drive either, right?” Connor adds. His tone is a little too light, like it’s a deliberate attempt to offset the previous statement.

“Nope. So I guess I’m just a taxi service for both of you now, apparently. I should start charging.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re taking him to Zoe’s concert on Wednesday, right?”

“Yup.” Jared musters up as much nonchalance as he can before asking, “Are you going?”

Connor sighs. “Yeah. My mom’s expecting me to go, anyway. You know. To be a supportive brother, or whatever.”

His dismissiveness isn’t _quite_ convincing.

“I mean, it’s _fine_ ,” he says. “I’m just not really into the concept of going into school when I don’t _have_ to.”

“Well, I’ll be there,” Jared says. “And it’s not like Evan’s going to be good company considering he’s going to be totally preoccupied with getting to the bone zone with your sister-”

“What did I tell you about talking about Evan _boning_ my sister?”

“My bad. If it helps, I’m not sure he totally knows what boning is.”

“Okay. I am _demanding_ that we change the subject.”

Jared shoots a pair of finger guns in Connor’s direction.

“You got it.”

They walk for a while longer, talking probably the most they’ve ever talked to each other about non-math shit in one go. It feels so completely natural, so comfortable, like everything they say to each other slots together like an endless verbal jigsaw puzzle, that Connor’s weird outburst on Friday starts to feel like an inexplicable, distant memory.

Or maybe, Jared thinks to himself, with a glimmer of what still very much feels like foolish hope, it makes perfect sense. Insofar as Connor’s capable of doing anything that makes sense, that is.

Eventually they reach an open field, bounded on all sides by rows of trees. In one corner another, single tree, taller and broader than the rest, stands on top of a small hill, the early afternoon sun sending golden rays pouring through its branches. It feels different to the rest of the orchard - perhaps because it seems like the only part of the land that was ever untouched by humans, leaving it immune to the weird air of emptiness and decay exuded by the simultaneously too-neat and too-wild plots of carefully planted, then carelessly abandoned apple trees that surround it. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the light.

“Have you ever read _The Little Prince_?” Connor asks as they cut diagonally across the field.

The question comes completely out of the blue, and it briefly takes Jared by surprise.

“I think maybe one of my parents read it to me when I was, like, six,” He says with a shrug. “Don’t remember shit about it, though. You’re doing a French project on it, right?”

“Yeah. And it was one of my mom’s favorite books when she was a kid. So she basically brought me and Zoe up on it, too. It’s sort of been _my_ favorite book ever since.” Connor says.

He pauses for a second - completely stops walking, too - and looks back at Jared. He’s clearly waiting for a laugh, a roll of the eyes, a ‘Come on, dude, you’re capable of reading freaking _Tolstoy_ for _fun_ and your favorite book is still some kids’ book?’, which Jared _is_ sort of thinking, to be fair, but he’s not enough of an idiot to say that out loud when it’s starting to feel like Connor’s putting his entire soul on the table.

So he looks at Connor with as still and steady and reassuring an expression as he can muster, and it apparently satisfies him because he starts walking again a few seconds later.

“Anyway. There’s this part where the little prince meets a fox. And in the book there’s this illustration of a hill with a single apple tree on it, and whenever we came here my mom used to pretend to us that it was _this_ hill.” Connor gestures straight ahead to where the tree, so weirdly noble and imposing that it almost makes Jared actually _feel_ things about nature, looms before them. “You know, like we’d be walking through this part of the orchard and she’d start joking around like, ‘look out for foxes!’”

“That’s _adorable_ ,” says Jared, and he’s very glad that Connor’s still a few paces ahead of him because he is _totally_ blushing right now.

Connor almost laughs.

“This is really dumb,” he says, suddenly kind of melancholy again. “But back when the orchard closed - I was, like, ten, so obviously I didn’t _actually_ believe that this was the hill from the book anymore. But for some reason one of the things I was saddest about was that I’d been going here for years and I never actually saw a fox.”

“Aww,” Jared says. He considers chucking in _another_ comment about how objectively cute this whole anecdote is but he really doesn’t want to push his luck.

“Maybe we’ll see a fox today,” he says instead, bounding up to walk beside Connor.

Connor scoffs. “I doubt it.”

“Aw, come on, you never know.”

Connor shakes his head. He’s stopped walking again, and his shoulders are a little slumped.

“Hey.” Jared nudges him, grinning. “What if, right this second, we just saw one of those weird freshmen from our school, like, frolicking across this field wearing a Hot Topic fox tail?”

Connor actually cackles, the sound seeming to reverberate all the way across the sprawling field.

“I hate you so much,” he laughs, shaking his head.

“Aw, come on. You love me really.” Jared gives his arm another gentle shove.

Connor goes very quiet.

“Can I tell you something?” he says.

Jared’s heart very nearly gives out entirely this time.

“Sure,” he manages to say in response, although it comes out ludicrously thin and thready.

They’ve reached the lone tree (it doesn’t actually look like an apple tree, not compared to the others standing in neat rows throughout the rest of the orchard, but that’s not really Jared’s area of expertise and he’s not going to ruin whatever the fuck this moment is by getting needlessly pedantic about botany), and Jared sits down beneath it, leaning against the trunk and stretching his legs out in front of him. Connor hesitates before settling himself down a couple of feet away. He doesn’t look at Jared, tapping at his spinner ring with the pointer finger of his left hand instead.

His nails are painted again, Jared notices.

“I know you keep saying we’re friends,” Connor says after what feels like an interminable silence. His spinner ring whirs softly. “And I wanted to believe you, but…”

“But you don’t,” Jared says. Maybe this conversation isn’t going in the direction he thought - _hoped_ \- it was, after all.

“I _didn’t_ ,” Connor clarifies. “Until this week.”

Jared just looks back at him.

“You can tell me to shut up if… if I’m crossing a line,” Connor says. “Or... making you uncomfortable.”

Jared _wants_ to say that Connor probably wouldn’t even be skirting _close_ to any sort of line until he was, like, straight up giving him a handjob in the middle of this abandoned apple orchard, and even then that could probably be negotiated.

Instead, because he doesn’t have a death wish, he shrugs and attempts to smile in a way that comes off as encouraging.

“I… I can’t remember the last time someone was actually _nice_ to me when I was being… like that,” Connor murmurs. “Someone who wasn’t, like, a teacher, or my mom.”

“That’s… really fucking sad.”

Connor laughs bitterly. “Tell me about it.”

He looks across at Jared briefly, and the corner of his mouth twitches a little.

“Anyway,” he says, staring straight ahead again. “It just really… made me think, I guess. I know I - I’m shit at actually opening up to people, you can probably tell, but like I said I’ve been thinking about all this shit and… over the past couple of days I’ve been trying to figure out if you - if you feel the same way as I do, I guess, because-”

“Connor,” Jared interrupts, his voice as steady as he can possibly make it.

His heart is pounding so furiously that it feels like it’s slamming into his lungs over and over again, leaving him unable to breathe. It almost feels like he could throw up.

Which would definitely ruin whatever this moment is, or could be.

Connor looks up at the sound of his name, looking Jared right in the eye with the smallest hint of a frown, his lips parted ever so slightly. There’s an undeniable hopefulness in his expression.

They’re only a couple of feet apart, if that. Connor’s probably within arm’s reach, if Jared shuffled across. It really wouldn’t be so difficult to close the gap between the two of them. It wouldn’t be hard at all to take Connor’s hand, or brush his hair back, or bring one hand up to cup his face, to feel the heat of his skin as Jared leans forward and presses his lips to Connor’s.

It wouldn’t be so impossible at all.

“The thing is,” Connor continues, briefly breaking Jared out of his reverie. He frowns, clearly thinking what to say next.

Jared takes advantage of the pause to edge a little closer. Connor doesn’t back away. There’s nothing of that frightened-animal skittishness to him now.

“The thing is.” There’s that strange frantic undertone to Connor’s voice starting to creep in again, though, just like that weird conversation they had on Friday that really seems like it might be starting to make sense in some beautiful, exhilarating way. Connor doesn’t look like he wants to run away this time, for sure. “I know this sounds _so_ stupid and pathetic but I can’t remember the last time I actually - the last time I _had_ a friend - and I just - I just - I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, that-”

“Yeah?” Jared breathes.

Connor closes his eyes, inhales as if bracing himself.

“That I’m really, really glad we’re friends.” He lunges forward, far too quickly for Jared to possibly misinterpret the move, and pulls him into a hug. “Thank you. _Thank you_.”

Jared’s heart, so close to fluttering into his throat and soaring right out of his mouth, plummets to the floor like it’s been shot down.

Just friends. Of course.

Connor’s holding him close, resting his chin on Jared’s shoulder, and he must feel something in Jared’s posture change because he pulls back after mere seconds to look him in the eye, that _show me you tolerate me_ anxiety starting to flicker across his face again.

“Is something wrong?” he says, and the softness of his voice _hurts_ somehow.

“What? Shit. No.” Jared squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that the action doesn’t force any tears out. “No. I’m just an emotional idiot. Ignore me.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“Dude, no. It’s fine.” _I just wish you could have said more_ , Jared thinks. _But that’s just me, an ungrateful piece of shit who always wants more. Always wants too much_.

But he doesn’t say that. He puts on a brave face, as always, because he might suck at lying to overly-friendly waitresses about his plans for the day, but he’s pretty fucking well trained at concealing his emotions.

“I’m really glad we’re friends, too,” he says instead, and even though the sentence feels hopelessly incomplete he really does mean it.

Connor’s mouth stretches into a radiant smile, and he lets out an exhale that sounds suspiciously like “Oh, thank God.”

Then he shuffles around so that he’s sitting beside Jared rather than opposite him again, and rests his head against Jared’s shoulder.

Jared tries to ignore how the touch aches.

* * *

Jared keeps smiling and laughing and making small talk for the rest of the day, even though it feels like everything he does isn’t quite landing where he wants it to, like the time he broke his glasses at summer camp when he was twelve and it took his parents a couple of days to drive up with his spare pair so he just had to walk around with one working lens and he kept bumping into shit and fucking his team over at ball games because his depth perception was all out of whack. He and Connor hang out at the orchard for a few more hours, and on the way home they take a detour downtown and grab dinner, and when Jared finally drops Connor off at his house Connor stares at him from the passenger seat and gives him that same weird look again, like he almost wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t say anything, and he gets out of the car with nothing more than a wave and an awkward smile, and Jared drives the rest of the way home silently berating himself for ever getting his hopes up in the first place.

His mom is sitting on the couch in the living room when he gets in, poring over one of her weird art journals.

“Heya, Pumpkin,” she says, putting the journal down and beckoning him across for a hug. Jared doesn’t take up the offer. “Did you and Connor have a nice day?”

“Huh?” Jared has to think on his answer for a second. It wasn’t a _bad_ day. It was only really a bad day by the standards of an idiot too prone to fantastical wishful thinking. But he’s not sure if calling it a _nice_ day is totally right either. “Yeah. It was good.”

“Are you sure?”

His mom’s always been too perceptive.

“Yeah,” Jared blags. “I’m just tired. We went to Ellison Park, did a ton of walking. So I’m pretty wiped out. I’m gonna get an early night, okay?”

He turns to go, ignoring the way he can feel his mom’s concerned gaze lingering on him. But then - he’s not totally sure why, although maybe it has to do with the fact that he thought he was getting _so_ close but it turns out he can’t stop getting hopelessly lost every single time he tries to get inside Connor’s head and he’s freaking desperate for _any_ source of guidance - he stops and peers back into the living room.

“Hey, mom?” he says. “Did you or dad ever read me _The Little Prince_ when I was a kid?”

“So Connor’s been giving you book recs now,” his mom says with a smirk.

“No?” Jared splutters, a little too quickly to sound convincing.

His mom just keeps smiling at him, albeit a little more warmly and less outright mockingly now.

“We might have donated your copy, so I’m not making any promises, but there’s a box of some of your old books up in the attic.”

“Oh, sweet.” Jared goes to leave again.

“Or,” his mom adds. The smirk returns as Jared turns around. “You could just ask Connor to lend you his copy.”

“Yeah, no, that’s, like, at least five levels of cheesy teen romcom too far for me.”

And probably at least _ten_ too far for Connor, considering the conversation they had earlier.

As promised, Jared finds a large cardboard box in the back corner of the attic, underneath piles and piles of other discarded crap that takes him like an hour to sort through, labeled JARED’S BOOKS in his dad’s painstakingly neat print.

 _The Little Prince_ is nearly at the bottom, so far down that Jared was almost beginning to lose hope, hidden between a reference book about dinosaurs and an installment of _A Series of Unfortunate Events_. A small, thin paperback with a sweet, weirdly wistful cover illustration of a little kid standing on top of a tiny planet.

Jared stays up reading way past his bedtime, pulling the ‘flashlight under the covers’ trick he’s only ever seen in movies so that his parents don’t catch sight of any light seeping out through the crack under his bedroom door. It wouldn’t normally be his type of book at all - far too heavy on the symbolism for his liking, not enough action, not enough humor, simultaneously too whimsical and way too melancholy. But something about it - perhaps the knowledge that it’s so closely, intimately tied to _Connor_ , keeps Jared hooked, until he’s turning each page with baited breath and a strange pang in his heart.

It takes him a while to reach an illustration that, although he probably hasn’t seen it himself for years, looks undeniably familiar. A rolling green hill on which a single tree grows, with a fox poking its head out of a hole at its foot.

Jared keeps reading, and the strange twinge in his chest intensifies, a weird, vulnerable sensation that makes him feel almost as if the book is reading _him_ rather than the other way around.

 

> _“What does that mean - tame?”_
> 
> _“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. “It means to establish ties.”_
> 
> _“‘To establish ties?’”_
> 
> _"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..."_
> 
> _"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower... I think that she has tamed me..."_

With a sharp, shaky exclamation of "Fuck!", Jared slams the book shut and throws it across the room.

He’s already laying perfectly still in pitch darkness with his blankets pulled right over his head by the time his mom knocks on the door to ask if everything’s okay.

Jared doesn’t respond.

He’s not sure how he _would_ respond, anyway.

All he can think of is the single, all-consuming, stupidly petulant thought that boys and foxes and flowers really fucking suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks, as always, for reading!! thanks to @evol_love and @phonecallfromgod, i know you guys haven't read this chapter yet but ilu always, and a special shoutout to my pal fiona (@lizzy_stardust_18 on here) for ALSO tolerating my NONSENSE
> 
> i probably also owe a thanks to my a level french teacher, although i SINCERELY hope he isn't reading my fanfics, for making me write so many essays about the little prince that i knew EXACTLY where to find my slowburn conman parallels three years down the line
> 
> comments and the like are always appreciated!!! they're really what keeps me going on massive projects such as this hahaha
> 
> and check me out on tumblr even though it's kinda collapsing idk, i'm @coniello and you're watching disney channel


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